Fixing To Fly
by Ginevieve
Summary: Before Harry Potter was Gryffindor Seeker, there was Darcy Reed. Her 7th year's not going quite as planned, especially with Oliver Wood on her mind. And now she's in his heart... Ch29, here at last!
1. Some Things Old, Something New

**Fixing To Fly**

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**Summary:** Quidditch Captain. Gryffindor Seeker. Head Girl. Seventh year Darcy Reed would seem to have it all. But no one sees the fights she and her "perfect" boyfriend have. No one knows about the pressure her parents are putting on her to choose a career she doesn't want. And no one—_no one—is supposed to know about the crush she has on her new Keeper, Oliver Wood. For seven years, she's kept up pretenses and made herself into the girl everyone wants her to be. But her facade is slowly cracking, and with the prospect of true love allowing her heart to lead the way, the ambitious young woman that is Darcy Reed will never be the same._

**Rating:** The vast majority is PG-13, for the occasional bit of language and sexual innuendo. A few later chapters, however, definitely earn an R for sexual content, and are labeled as such.

**Feedback:** Is, as always, welcome. Constructive criticism is something that every author can use from time to time.

**Disclaimer:** What you know belongs to JK Rowling et al, what you don't belongs to me. This goes for all chapters.

**Author's Note:** 28 Oct 2003- This story marks my first venture into the realm of Harry Potter, and now, nearly a year after publishing this first chapter, the story nears completion. I'm proud to say that I believe my writing has improved over that time, so I thought it was only fair that this, my first, be given a fitting revision as we come to the end. A huge thanks is owed to all of you who have read, reviewed, and made this story such a pleasure for me to write. You truly are the greatest inspiration an author could ever wish for.

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She headed for the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 at a casual jog, the cart of her belongings wheeled before her, and as she raced for the solid brick surface, a familiar moment of hesitation rushed through her brain. A sense of panic, something she'd failed to eliminate—even in this, her seventh year—that _this time, the magical barrier would not give. She would not slip into the world beyond, the world full of wonder and amazement. Instead she would fall away, her belongings scattering across the platform, and be forever trapped in the dull, insipid world of the Muggles. She would forever be one of them, completely un-magical and blissfully unaware of such things as Quidditch matches, N.E.W.T. examinations, and theories of transubstantial transfiguration…_

But then she was through, coming to a stop just beyond the barrier to both catch her breath and take in the sights and sounds that were Platform 9¾. Before her, the immense red engine of the Hogwarts Express billowed up clouds of steam in preparation for its departure. Standing along its train of passenger cars, witches and wizards were seeing off their children to another magical year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—_magical_ in the most literal sense, of course. A hum of excitement seemed to permeate the entirety of the platform, along with the rich, spicy scent she'd come to equate with all things relating to her life at Hogwarts. She drew slow, deep breaths, taking it all in, and her lips could not be stopped from curling into a warm smile at the comforting familiarity. Her earlier frets seemed suddenly not so bothersome as she acknowledged the fact that, yes, she was home.

And in that instant, she also acknowledged the fact that a weight had fallen upon her person, located in the region of her posterior, a weight that seemed to bear the shape of a hand. With only a single raised eyebrow as testament to her annoyance, she said in a cool, casual voice, "Brian Keeler, if you don't get your hand off my ass in the next two seconds, I will gladly rip it from your body and beat you to death with it."

The hand was instantly gone, replaced on her shoulder, and this time accompanied by its grinning owner. The tall, muscular young man swung into view, green eyes gleaming with mirth as he playfully wiggled his eyebrows at her and said, "Your powers of clairvoyance are unmatched, Miss Reed."

A smirk twitched into life on Darcy Reed's own visage. "More like, I know you're the only person who knows he can get away with touching my ass without fear of castration." She broke into a full smile and flung her arms around his neck, knocking him back a step. "God, it's good to see you, Bri."

Brian embraced his best friend in return. "Sorry I didn't get a chance to see you this summer, DC," he said as they released each other, "but my mom wanted me back in the States to—" he made a wholly unpleasant face, "—_visit the family."_

"Ah, don't worry about it. I got your letters, anyway," she replied as they started to walk together down the platform, the only two American students currently in attendance at Hogwarts, with the possible exception of one of the new first years.

"So, I see you beat your record this year," said Brian conversationally, glancing at his watch as he pushed her trolley along for her. "You've arrived with _fifteen whole minutes before the train's supposed to leave, five minutes more than your current record! And of course, we can't forget your _lowest_ record, standing at an even two minutes." He smiled at her approvingly, feigning to sniff back tears. "Feel just like a proud parent right now."_

Unimpressed, Darcy shot back, "Speaking of parents, where are the lovely Mr. and Mrs. Keeler? They don't seem to be present this year to see their little Bri-Bri off!" She reached over to pinch one of his cheeks.

Scowling, he said, "Yeah, well, they were banned after last year's… after last year."

Wide, guileless blue doe's eyes blinked up at him as Darcy queried innocently, "You mean you won't let your parents come say good-bye to you just because last year your mom came running through the crowd with—"

"I thought we agreed not to talk about this."

"Did we?" Darcy smiled, ever so coy.

A wicked smirk then found Brian's face, setting upon the girl instant unease. "Say, while we're on the topic of things we've agreed not to talk about, a certain Mr. Kotter Baines is looking for you."

She flinched, suddenly looking sick. "God, if you see him, _please don't tell him where I am. The last thing I need is another argument here on the platform."_

"Trouble in paradise?" he asked, and when she'd nodded in affirmation, he added, "He still on about the Quidditch thing again?"

"Oh yeah. That's the big issue right now, apparently the one that's threatening to break apart our oh-so-precious relationship." Darcy snorted, anger bubbling up like liquid lava into her belly. "I mean, honestly, Brian, it's ridiculous! I've told him a thousand, _thousand_ times, I'm not only a Seeker, but the team _captain_, for god's sake, and I_ need_ to practice! I even made out a whole schedule so people would know when to come visit me at times when I wouldn't be busy. So what does he do? Shows up, right in the middle of practice! And not just once, _five times, mind you, even after I told him __again my schedule, and he has the nerve to get mad at __me?"_

Her best friend offered a shrug, trying to stay neutral, as always.

"And if _that's_ not bad enough, he's got nothing to do all summer, right? Just hang around the house, do his homework, hang out with those _hideous_ friends from Slytherin he has, and the _one_ chance I get to come and visit him all summer, he's out playing the stupid Muggle sport! What's it called again? Gorf? Guff?"

Brian, whose parents were both Muggles, answered, "It's golf, DC."

"Right, goff. That's what I said. He's out playing goff! What an idiotic sport! You can't fly on those ridiculous metal sticks they carry, and the balls don't even fly!"

"Well, technically, when they're hit—"

Growling low in her throat, she insisted, "They _don't_ fly, Brian. And he's playing this 'goff' when I come to visit him, and he can't even be bothered to come off the cream—"

"That's _green_."

"—to talk to me. You know, I wouldn't be so mad if he'd been practicing Quidditch, as he is _supposed_ to be our star Chaser this year. I bet you he hasn't even touched a broom in two months! Our chances of winning the Quidditch Cup this year just keep getting dimmer and dimmer…" she trailed off, all the fight draining out of her now that she'd said her piece. She gazed around bemusedly, startled to see that at some point, they'd boarded the train, selected an empty cabin, and Brian was currently storing her trunk in the overhead compartments.

He handed her the metal cage that contained her barn owl, Manhattan, and glanced at her amusedly. "You done now?"

Shrugging, she nodded. "Yeah. Think so."

"Good, because I've got something for you," he said and crawled on top of his seat, reaching far back into the overhead compartment for something hidden behind his own trunk. He started to pull it out, hesitated, then said over his shoulder, "You better sit down, DC."

Out of curiosity, she obliged, squinting her eyes to peer into the shadows of the compartment and see what her friend was hiding.

"So I know I didn't get a chance to see you on your birthday, and the present I _wanted to get you was a __little too expensive for me. Luckily, I just happened to talk to your parents, who also suggested I talk to the rest of our friends, and between all of us, we came up with the Galleons to get you my special gift." He shot a glance over his shoulder. "Are you sitting?"_

"Yep." She leaned forward a bit on her seat, intrigued.

"Good. So anyway. I'm walking down Diagon Alley, the money in my pocket, headed for the store where I'd seen the gift I wanted to get you, when all the sudden, I see _it_. Something _way_ better than what I _was_ going to get you. I knew you had to have it. So I recounted the money, and I had _just enough to get you something very special… Still sitting?"_

Darcy let a touch of impatience drift into her voice. "Haven't moved."

"All right. So I decide to go ahead and buy this special gift, even though it's not what I originally told everyone I was buying. But when I told them what I'd got instead, they all agreed it was a _much_ better gift, and that they all knew you'd love it. Your butt's on the seat, right?"

"Glued!" She was positively antsy now, and demanded, "Just show me!"

"You got it. So then we all decided that instead of on your birthday, we'd give it to you on the first day of school, so it'd be a kind of last-year gift, and then—"

"Brian! I know you _love_ to draw out the drama, but _you_ know I have absolutely no patience. You need to tell me what you got me," she said, just the right amount of threatening in her tone to get her point across. "_Now."_

Biting hard on his bottom lip to conceal his smirk, he pretended to reluctantly relent. "Okay, okay. You don't have to get moody with me." He finally pulled away from the compartment, a package in his hands that looked suspiciously broomstick-shaped. Grandiosely he deposited it in her outstretched hands, and as she began to strip off the gold wrapping paper, he narrated, "It's your last year at Hogwarts, DC, as it is mine, and therefore, our last chance to see Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup. As both our captain and our Seeker, that job falls rather heavily into your hands, and it's only right that you be properly equipped to handle it."

The last bit of paper fell to the floor, and Darcy felt a gasp slip past her lips. "Ohh… Brian…" Further words escaped her as she stared down at the thing resting gently in her hands.

"Latest model, top of the line, brand spankin' new, and it's yours," he said, smiling. "You definitely deserve it, Darcy."

She tried to speak, swallowed hard, tried to speak again; no words would come. Tears had caught on her lower eyelashes, but she simply couldn't take her eyes off her new beautiful, gleaming broomstick. Its oak handle was polished to perfection, each tail twig smoothing back to a precise point, and on the handle, embossed in shimmering gold letters: _Nimbus '99. Over the summer, every time she'd visited Diagon Alley, she had made a point of stopping to examine this very same broomstick in the window display of Quality Quidditch Supplies. She had never even dared to __dream that it would one day be hers…_

"Th-thank—" she managed to push only the single word out before the lump in her throat grew too large for speech.

Slipping into the seat next to her, Brian wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gently placed a kiss on her forehead. "You are very much welcome." He gave her a moment to clear her throat and wipe away the tears that had streamed down her face before he added, "You'll have to owl your parents when we get to Hogwarts; they were dying to hear your reaction. And don't forget to thank Toby, Keely, Loren, and—yes, even Kotter. Although if its any consolation, he contributed the least amount of money."

Darcy managed a chuckle at this as she swiped the last smudge of teardrop off her cheek. "Yeah, but the fact that he gave money at _all, he probably thinks I owe him something."_

"Maybe he'll ask you to give him a little welcome-back blow—"

"_Brian."_

"Anyway, since we're on the subject of Quidditch." He flashed a grin at her, which she couldn't help but return. Quidditch seemed to be an eventual topic during _any of Darcy and Brian's conversations. It had become a running competition to see who could introduce it first; extra points were given for a creative or subtle entrance._

Darcy agreed amiably, "Yes, about Quidditch."

"Have you put any thought into a replacement Keeper yet? Not to mention reserve teams… and, well, I hate to say it, but since Kotter hasn't practiced all summer, you may want to consider a stand-in Chaser till he gets back up to speed."

"Yeah, but he'll bitch royally if I do, and I've got enough problems with him already," she countered as she methodically ran her fingers over the smooth surface of her Nimbus '99. "But I think I might start alternating the Weasley twins in as Beaters during our pre-season scrimmages; they were some of the best players at tryouts last year and I can only imagine they've gotten better. They'll probably get reserve team."

"And the Keeper?"

Heaving a sigh, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain shrugged helplessly. "Don't know. Our reserve man graduated, and nobody at tryouts last year struck me as too remarkable… except Ralleigh, maybe. I played a few games with him last year, he wasn't too bad." She glanced at Brian, whom she considered her unofficial co-captain and one of the best Beaters to ever play at Hogwarts. "What do you think, Bri?"

"Actually, there's somebody I've been keeping my eye on, a fourth year named Wood. A little over-enthusiastic, but has some pretty revolutionary ideas about tactics and plays."

Darcy was intrigued. "Oh yeah? Why hasn't he tried out the last three years?"

"He _did. In fact, he was usually one of the first ones there."_

"Then why'd I never see him play?"

"Because you always get bored and leave before the end of tryouts, and he always wants to go last. So he could size up the competition and modify his performance accordingly, he told me, when I talked to him. But he's been there every year," offered the seventh year male, and giving barely a moment of pause for her to contemplate, he instantly began a new topic, "So where is it?"

"Where's what?" she asked distractedly, still trying to remember exactly who Wood was; there were only two fourth year males currently in Gryffindor, but she had a bad habit of mixing up her fourth and fifth year House mates.

"Your Head Girl badge."

These words managed to cut through her mental haze, her head snapping up so quickly to gaze at him that she actually heard her vertebrae pop. In a nervous whisper she murmured, "Oh hell, I forgot about that," and quickly reached down to the hem of her shirt. For the first time, Brian noticed a shiny glint of silver pinned to the bottom of her button-down shirt, which was a brilliant shade of purple crisscrossed with light blue and cream stripes. Glimmering against the fabric was a badge that proudly proclaimed Darcy "Head Girl." Her smaller but still pretentious Quidditch captain's badge rested just above it.

In a second, she'd flipped both badges over, so the cold metal rested against her stomach and all that could be seen was her folded shirt.

With a laugh, Brian mused, "What, you don't want anyone to see your accomplishments?"

"Not really," she muttered back irritably, still fiddling with the badges to make sure they were adequately hidden. "Nobody knows I'm Head Girl yet, and the last thing I need is everybody making a big deal about it—"

"Then you better hurry up and quit playing with them, because company has arrived," he said in a low voice, just as the cabin door banged open and revealed four smiling faces.

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And that would be the first chapter, in its (revised) entirety. My thanks goes out to my readers/reviewers, whether you've been reading from the beginning, or are just joining the F2F party. Love ~ Adele


	2. Blonde Luck

**Fixing to Fly**

**Chapter Two**

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"So, did we ever find out who the new Head Boy and Girl are?" asked Keely Merath as she pushed a loose strand of her thick, curly brown hair out of her face. The beautiful, dark-eyed Scottish girl was seated across from Darcy, fiddling with the knot of her red-and-gold school tie.

Brian sent a very discreet smile Darcy's way, who in turn bit down hard on her bottom lip to stifle a smirk. Their friends had joined them several hours prior, and so far, Darcy had been able to keep the conversation on mostly neutral topics, like Quidditch, school classes, and her new broom. But Keely, whom Darcy considered her best female friend, had a knack for being rather blunt, and stubborn, as well. She didn't dare try to redirect the topic this time without looking suspicious.

Luckily, before Keely could ask Darcy her opinion, Loren LaRose intoned in his flowing French lilt, "I was speaking wiz Leslie Green from 'Ufflepuff earlier, _non? And she told me __le garçon is Nick Levine—"_

"From Ravenclaw?" interrupted Keely.

"_Oui, but as for __la fille, _elle ne sait pas_." Loren gave a helpless shrug._

"Elle ne say what?" The Scot sent a questioning look to Brian, the only one amongst them besides Loren who had any knowledge of the French language.

"He said she didn't know," Brian translated and added casually, "Not that it matters anyway, Dumbledore will announce to the whole school during the feast tonight who the new Boy and Girl are." He sent another secret glance at Darcy, who refused to meet his gaze.

The stunningly handsome seventh year male seated next to Darcy had his arm around her, and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze as he announced, "Well, no matter _who the new Head Girl is, my Darcy is better than her. Right, sweety?" Kotter Baines affectionately nuzzled her hair, and for an uncomfortably long moment, Darcy thought she might be sick._

He'd been this way since he'd first entered the cabin, greeting her with a fierce hug and many loving kisses, making a special point in telling her—_loudly_—how much he'd missed her over the summer. Not a single word was spoken in regards to their argument, or the unpleasantness that had occurred between them recently. In fact, to uninformed observers, such as Keely, Loren, and their other friend, Toby Resner, Kotter was being the perfect boyfriend—attentive, caring, considerate. Darcy was hardly fooled by his hospitality, knowing the real fight would resume later, out of the public eye, and for this same reason she was forced to play along, if only in order to keep their dispute private.

Producing a replica of an adoring smile that was almost convincing in its sincerity, she modestly agreed, "I guess so," and, gritting her teeth slightly, she managed the word, "_sweety."_

Suddenly Brian was coughing, and the cabin's other inhabitants all stared at him with concern save Darcy, who understood Brian's outburst for what it was—a muffled bout of laughter. He managed to avoid her gaze as he cleared his throat, swallowed a few times, and said, "No, no, I'm fine. Just a touch of a cold, I think."

Kotter pulled Darcy closer, as though trying to ward off Brian's germs. "Maybe we should go sit in another cabin, DC," he told her, whispering into the gold curls of her hair. "Wouldn't want my baby getting sick…"

That was the final straw. She couldn't stay in the cabin anymore, or she _would_ be getting sick, though not from Brian. "Well," she announced loudly, untangling herself from Kotter's grasp as he watched her with a disappointed gaze, "I think I'm going to see if I can go find the food cart witch. I just had the strangest craving for a box of Bertie Bott's."

A groan came from Keely as she protested, "Merlin, DC, won't you ever learn? You must have _the most rotten record with Bertie Bott's Beans of all time, and you still eat them! Are you __mental?"_

"Probably," said the blonde with a touch of sarcasm. "Besides, my record's not _that bad…"_

Immediately Toby Resner chimed in, "Hmm, let's see. Last time it was paté, before that it was toilet water, and before that it was compost. Tell me, DC, what flavor do you have to come across before you stop eating them?"

"One that tastes like _you_, Tobias." She shot the hazel-eyed seventh year an exceedingly saccharine smile, making him laugh. "_Any_way. If you'll all excuse me, I'll be back in a bit. I'll probably change into my robes while I'm at it, so don't worry about me if I'm gone a little while," she said, digging into her trunk for her Hogwarts uniform. Toby, Keely, Kotter, and Loren had all changed earlier; she and Brian were the only two still sitting in their street clothes.

As she slipped out of their cabin, she heard Kotter call, "Don't be _too_ long, baby! I'll miss you!" and slammed the door behind her a bit harder perhaps than she meant to.

She changed first and sent her clothes back to her trunk with a simple wave of her wand, a feat that should technically have been illegal to a student such as herself. But she'd learned long ago, as did all students second year and up, that leniency was given aboard the Hogwarts Express, and so it was not uncommon to witness small spells being practiced within the train's many compartments.

She stepped out of the bathroom sporting her standard school uniform, the scarlet and gold of the tie and crest on the robes giving her away as the Gryffindor she was. Her captain's badge had been relocated to the collar of her robe, a necessity now that she was in uniform, but she'd again tucked the Head Girl badge away, this time on the hem of her white button-down, hidden beneath her sweater. Until the feast that evening, she still had the option of keeping it under cover.

Feeling much improved, she started off through the train. A quick glance at her watch told her the food cart would be somewhere towards the back, just starting the afternoon snack rounds. She continued along at a leisurely pace, stopping occasionally to poke her head into a cabin and greet various friends and acquaintances.

At last she stepped onto the correct passenger car, and as she spotted the food cart down the corridor, Darcy suddenly found herself ravenously hungry, and not just for Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. She was waiting patiently for the group of first years blocking her way to move, visions of cauldron cakes and pumpkin juice occupying her thoughts, when a peculiar sound suddenly reached her ears.

She paused, head cocked thoughtfully to listen as she attempted to pinpoint which cabin the sound was coming from… behind and to her right? Turning, she peered in through the window of the proper cabin, and was rewarded with the source of the sound.

Inside, a tiny boy sat with knobby knees folded up to a skinny chest, sobbing wildly onto his sleeve. Darcy didn't even have to guess to know he was a first year. Seated beside him, attempting to comfort the distraught young wizard, was another boy she couldn't quite recognize, though he looked strikingly familiar. Neither of them were wearing their school robes.

For a long moment she continued to peek into the cabin, her growling stomach forgotten as she tried to hear what they were saying to each other. Finally, she shed her mind's automatic warning for caution and indulged herself in the age-old bane of cats, small children, and blondes—curiosity. Before she could change her mind, she'd slipped into the cabin, shut the door behind her, and taken a seat across from the two. Both were immediately focused on her, the first year looking hopeful, the older boy strangely defensive, as though he expected her to taunt his crying companion.

She let them get a good look at her captain's badge as she queried, "Everything all right in here? Anything I can do to help?"

The older boy opened his mouth to speak—no doubt to tell her that, Quidditch captain or not, she needed to mind her own business—but the first year beat him to the punch. His voice hitching with sobs, he pleaded with her, "P-please, oh _please_ c-can you help? This is muh-my first year at H-H-Hogwarts, and I fuh-forgot Bu-Bu-Benny!"

Confused, Darcy gazed at the older boy, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

"It's his teddy bear," he explained in a thick brogue that definitely proclaimed him as Scottish in origin. "Told me he can't sleep without it—"

"_I can't!" interrupted the younger wizard with a wail._

Glaring at Darcy as though it was her fault for upsetting him again, the Scot turned away from her and attempted to console the boy. "It's all right, Christian, don't worry. I'm sure we can find you a replacement till your mum and dad can send—"

"**_NO!!_" shouted the boy labeled Christian, with such vehemence that both Darcy and the Scot jumped. "I-I wuh-want muh-my _Benny_!!" His crying hit a hysterical peak, causing Darcy to flinch and resist the urge to cover her ears. The Scot, looking pained by the noise, only put his arm around the first year's shoulders and gave him a reassuring pat. Obviously having reached the limits of his usefulness—_and_ patience, the older boy sent an uncertain smile at the blonde, wordlessly pleading for her aid. He shrugged in an unspoken, '_What can you do?'_**

Darcy knew what she could do. It was a little risky…

She sent a last look at Christian, and decided she'd never seen a thing more pitiful, sobbing so hard his whole tiny body shook. An intensely compassionate person she'd never considered herself, but she _was_ still human, and she could remember what it was like on her own first train ride to Hogwarts. How scared she'd been, and how comforted she was by her own stuffed otter named Sniffy…

"Hey, hey, don't cry, sweety," she found herself saying as she kneeled before Christian. The stricken look in his big, tear-filled green eyes seemed to dissolve the last of her reservations. Bolstering her voice with a new wave of confidence, she told him, "I think I know how I can bring Benny to you, but if I do it, I need you to promise that you won't tell a soul, okay? This could get me into a lot of trouble."

The first year was staring at her with unabashed pleading. "On my granmum's grave I swear it! I won't ever say a word! Just… _please_…"

Darcy sent a quick glance at the Scot, who was now watching her with keen interest in his chocolate-colored eyes. Out of sheer curiosity, he replied, "Not a word from me. Promise."

"Okay then." She still had her doubts about the older boy, but she doubted even more that she'd be able to convince him to leave, so she instead focused herself on Christian. Turning on her sweetest, most charming smile—the one Brian said melted every bone in the male body except one—she took one of the first year's hands and said, "To do this, I'm going to need your help, so I need you to hold onto my hand." Sudden, painful pressure smashed down on her fingers, making her flinch and gasp, "Maybe not so tight, huh?"

"Oh. Sorry." Christian gave an apologetic smile, easing his grip a bit.

"It's okay, don't worry about it. Just close your eyes now, Christian, and think about the last place you saw Benny. Can you remember?"

Eyes tightly closed, the boy sniffled, "He was on my bed. I forgot him there."

"All right, good, now hold onto that thought. Keep thinking _very_ hard about _exactly_ where you left him, down to every last detail: where he was laying, how he was laying, the color of your bedspread, _everything_. This is really important." She gave him a long moment to concentrate before asking, "Have you got it?"

"Yes!" In his eagerness, he clamped down on her hand again.

Ignoring both the squashing grasp and intense look of fascination on the Scot's face as he watched her, Darcy let her own eyes slip shut as she produced her wand from the depths of her robes. She could feel the fragile link that had formed between their minds, connected physically by the flesh of their hands, as Christian's thoughts bubbled up into her own like a slow leak. Quickly she locked her mind down on the picture that was slowly forming—a London suburb, the blurry image of a bedroom, and a neatly-made bed with a… green bedspread? No, _blue bedspread, and light blue pillows to match, and something lying between those pillows, tattered brown fur, black button eyes, velvet nose… ahh. The much beloved Benny. Yes. She had it._

A smile spread over her face and she gave her wand a precise flick as she murmured, "_Accio Apparata Benny!" She let her eyes snap open… and felt an instant measure of satisfaction at the matted, fuzzy teddy bear face that stared back at her. Benny the bear rested innocuously in Christian's lap, as though it'd been there the whole time._

The blonde heard a gasp from her left, and found the other boy staring at her with eyes wide and mouth open. Christian, meanwhile, was blinking sleepily, as though coming out of a deep trance. Then he noticed the stuffed creature in his lap. Squealing in delight, he wrapped the teddy bear up in a fierce hug. "**_Benny!!_"**

Darcy allowed herself to enjoy the pure bliss on the first year's face as he cradled and caressed his prized possession. All her own troubles seemed to fall backburner to the pleasure she derived from helping the little boy, who'd begun crying all over again in his joy. His eyes flickered up to Darcy and, before she could prepare, Christian had thrown himself off the bench and had his arms around her neck, knocking her backward to the floor.

"Thank you, thank you!" he gushed, smattering her face with sloppy kisses. "I can't tell you how much this means!" He grinned madly, finally easing up off her and allowing her to rise.

"You are very welcome," she laughed, her own smile trying to break her face in two. "Just remember our secret, right?" She held out her hand to shake with him. Instead, the first year flung himself at her again, though this time she managed to catch herself before hitting the floor.

"I promise!" He gave her a last tight squeeze which nearly cut off her air supply before skipping out of the cabin.

She tenderly rubbed at her neck, watching him disappear down the hall as she slid up onto a bench. And then, casting a look at the cabin's remaining occupant, she burst out into laughter. If Christian had been the most pitiful creature she'd ever seen, this boy was definitely the most humorous. His eyes seemed quite ready to pop out of their sockets, his jaw practically detached from the rest of his face, his short brown hair sticking up in wild tufts as though he'd frantically run his fingers through multiple times. As she stared back at him, giggling, he suddenly came to life, his mouth attempting to form a single word. "H-ho… How…?"

"How did I do it?" she offered.

He nodded rapidly.

"Well…" For a long moment she stared at him, debating. She had no idea how trustworthy this one was—she didn't even know his _name_!—but he'd already seen what she could do, and it would likely be better in the long run if he knew the truth. "Suppose I might as well tell you then, so you don't run around spreading wild rumors. At least this way if you rat me out, people won't think I'm secretly practicing the Dark Arts or something." She rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Then what is it?" The Scot had apparently found his voice again, and was leaning forward with interest.

Surprised, if not slightly flattered, by his curiosity, she explained, "Well, the Ministry of Magic calls it tactile telepathy. _I_ just call it a pain in my ass." She flashed him a smile here, which he returned. "But anyway, the simple explanation of it is, when I touch another human being—wizard or Muggle, it doesn't matter—I can sense what they're thinking."

"You what?" His jaw had dropped again.

"Don't get all excited yet, it's not half as interesting as it sounds," she added, waving her hand dismissively. "There are a few exceptions. For starters, certain people can actually build a sort of wall up around their thoughts, block me from seeing inside. I can also only see what they're thinking at _that exact moment, so it's not all that useful if say, I'm trying to find out of a guy likes me, but when I touch him, he's thinking about Quidditch. There's also the nasty side effect that some people can turn it around on me and look into _my_ thoughts while I check out theirs. About the only good thing is that I can consciously control when I want to read someone's thoughts; it doesn't just happen every time I touch somebody. Shit, if it worked like that, I probably would've killed myself years ago." That thought in itself had kept her awake many nights when she lay considering the 'gift' she possessed._

The Scot appeared to be collecting his thoughts, his mouth working as though he were talking to himself. Finally, he said, "So you could read my thoughts, if you touched me."

"Maybe," corrected Darcy.

"Maybe. And so you tapped into Christian's thoughts to find Benny. But how did you just… make him _appear_? And you just… I mean…"

She held up a hand to silence him. "Now _that_ was just everyday magic. A modification of a Summoning Spell you'll learn your sixth year, if you take Experimental Charms. It combines the _Accio_ spell with Apparating, and technically, since I'm not supposed to be able to Apparate until I've passed the exam, I'm really not supposed be using the spell. So I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anybody… about any of this."

"Oh, I won't," he said, fixing her now with an amiable smile. "I mean, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble or anything since… you're the Gryffindor Seeker."

She laughed. "Ahh, one of my fans, huh?" The feeling that she _knew this boy came back to her, though her memory still refused to match a name to the face. "Well, it's promising to know that if nothing else, my status as a Quidditch Queen will keep me out of trouble."_

"Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't tell even if you weren't Gryffindor's Seeker," he replied quickly, and then, as color flooded up his cheeks and an embarrassed smile found his face, he added, "but my favorite thing about this school is Quidditch, and you're the best Seeker of the four teams. I… I've never missed a game when you played."

Feeling herself flush slightly, she murmured, "Um, thanks. I appreciate the support."

He gave her a brief nodded, and then swiftly, to change the subject, he asked, "So have you found a new Keeper for this year?"

Relieved to no longer be the topic of conversation, she let an easy smile come over her face. Quidditch was something she could _always_ talk about. "No, not really. I was going to wait until tryouts next week, kind of get a good look at the various auditions, but Brian Keeler, one of my Beaters? He says there's a fourth year named Wood who's got a lot of talent." Her mind was elsewhere as she spoke, otherwise she would've caught the sudden rise of her companion's eyebrows. Unnoticing, she continued, "I've never seen him play myself, but from the way Brian talks, he just might be Gryffindor's new Keeper. Of course I'll have to see him play first, but I trust Brian's judgment, and… never mind. Sorry about that, going off on my own little tangent."

"That's all right…" he replied, and she mistook his wide-eyed expression for amusement.

"Anyway, where's my head? I haven't introduced myself." She held out her hand to him across the cabin. "Darcy Reed, seventh year, Gryffindor House." A glint of metal on her collar caught her eye. "And reluctant Quidditch captain."

As he took her hand, he chuckled. "Nice to meet you. I'm—"

"DC!"

The cabin door slammed open, admitting Brian, Keely, and an annoyed looking Kotter, whose eyes were instantly on the stranger whose hand Darcy still held. Keely looked a little less surprised and announced in a tone of great exasperation, "Did you get lost? I thought you were just changing and getting food!"

Darcy glanced over at her still-nameless new acquaintance, whose hand she kept forgetting to release. "Ran into a little problem that required my… intervention."

"This I see," said Brian, eyeing the Scottish boy. He nodded at the stranger. "I thought you told me you didn't know Oliver Wood, DC."

Instantly Darcy's gaze was on the younger boy, memory clicking with recognition. _That's why he looked familiar; _he_ was Oliver Wood. She felt the sudden crazy urge to laugh, even as a blush crept from Oliver's collar all the way up to the roots of his hair. She couldn't imagine what _he_ had to be embarrassed about, since she was the one to sit here and gush about __him. But she only smiled, too amused at how strangely her life often turned out, and finally released his hand. "It's good to meet you, Oliver Wood," she said._

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon, Darcy," said Kotter once she'd let go of Wood. "We've only got about an hour before we reach Hogwarts. Better leave _him_—" he glared viciously at Oliver, "—so he can change." And before she could protest, he was dragging her out of the cabin, all the while shooting daggers at the young Scot she'd just met.

She only had time to yell, "Hope to see you at Quidditch tryouts!" before Kotter slammed the door shut behind them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	3. Presenting the Head Girl

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Three

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She continued to clap for the ten new first-years that had joined the Gryffindor table, but she hadn't truly paid attention to a word that'd been spoken since her entrance to the Great Hall. Her mind instead kept wandering back to her encounter with Oliver Wood, and replaying it in slow-motion each time to let her get the full scope of each of the many acts of idiocy she'd managed to commit. It still baffled her that in the four years she'd shared her school with him, she'd never really noticed him, which was all the more ridiculous considering that Wood was one of only _two_ male Gryffindors in his year.

Even now, she found her gaze sneaking to his spot at the table, across from her and two places down, close enough to touch, if she desired so. He'd been there for four years now, and again, she'd never noticed him. This was especially frustrating to the girl who prided herself on being acquainted with everyone at Hogwarts.

Well, _almost_ everyone, it seemed.

"Bloody hell, the Sorting Ceremony takes longer every year, I swear!" Keely's protesting voice brought Darcy out of her musing with a start. "I'm so starving I could eat the bile sacs off a grindylow! How much longer do we have to wait?"

Brian interjected, "Well, this is traditionally the point in the evening where Professor Dumbledore has a few words to say—"

"I have only a few words to say," came a commanding voice from the Staff table situated at the front of the room. A silence instantly fell across the Great Hall as all eyes rose to greet the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. He looked fully the part of the revered old wizard he was with his long, flowing white hair and beard and luxurious multicolored robes. Smiling wisely at them over his half-moon glasses, he announced, "First, a very warm welcome to all of you, old and new, here for another year at Hogwarts. Before I share with you some rather exciting news, I must remind you that the Enchanted Forest is forbidden to all students. That said, I am very happy to announce that we will be hosting a Yule Ball this year, the first in quite some time here at Hogwarts."

An instant hum of conversation rippled across the Hall, and down the table Darcy heard Keely exclaim, "Wicked!"

After allowing the students a moment to chatter amongst themselves, Dumbledore continued, "Yes, yes, very exciting news, I know. But I also need to announce this year's new Head Boy and Girl, who will be fulfilling a special duty this year, as they will be opening the Yule Ball with a traditional first dance."

Darcy felt an uncomfortable lurch inside her belly as Brian's gaze flickered down to meet hers. It wasn't bad enough that she was having yet more recognition thrust upon her, but now she was being shoved into the limelight as well? She swallowed hard, wanting to melt into her seat, as the headmaster finished his speech.

"Now I know that a bit of mystery has surrounded the Head Boy and Girl this year," he said, with a small smile that seemed to be directed specifically at Darcy. "I'm sure you're all curious to discover their identities. And so I will now ask our Head Boy and Girl to stand momentarily and be recognized…"

Sucking in and holding a long breath, Darcy waited.

"Mr. Nicholas Levine, from Ravenclaw—" A smattering of applause met this name, though there didn't seem to be much surprise in the faces of the students. Apparently, Nick had kept his achievement a bit less private than Darcy. Even as Nick stood, curious gazes were combing over every inch of the Great Hall as everyone attempted to be the first to spot the new Head Girl. Daring not keep them in suspense any longer, Dumbledore finished, "And from Gryffindor, Miss Darcy Reed."

Shocked silence prevailed for a moment as Darcy got to her feet, and then the applause was overwhelming, hammering her like waves until she could feel the beats in her chest… or maybe that was just the heavy-handed thumps of congratulations Toby and Loren were pummeling upon her back, one hard enough to make her lurch forward and force her to catch herself on the table's edge. She felt her gaze slipping from Brian to Keely to Toby to Loren to… Oliver? She completely surpassed Kotter, even though he was seated right beside her, and found her azure eyes inexplicably focused on Oliver Wood, who was clapping wildly and giving her a smile so wide she was surprised it hadn't broken his face. She gave him a smile of her own before finally glancing down at Kotter—and finding him sulking, his shoulders hunched petulantly.

When he noticed her attention, he muttered irritably, "You couldn't even tell _me_…" and glared back down at his plate, content to ignore her.

Her spirits suddenly dampened despite the continuing outpour of praise. Darcy realized she'd somehow expected this reaction from Kotter. Of all the people who should've been happiest for her, her boyfriend, she had known he instead would be upset that she'd failed to tell him. Was that why she'd looked to Oliver first? Curious…

But now was not the time to ponder such matters of the mind as Dumbledore's voice was cutting through the clamor, "Let the feast begin!" and at those simple words, a grand feast appeared across the Gryffindor table: bowls upon glimmering golden bowls of various foods, countless plates of rich cuts of meat, and flagons full of brilliant orange pumpkin juice all awaiting their consumption. Darcy reclaimed her seat and dug in before it could all vanish at the hands of her House mates.

"I can't believe you didn't even tell us!" Keely was chiding her through a mouthful of chicken casserole, though her tone was playful rather than accusatory. "Not that I'm _surprised_ or anything…" A bit of partially-chewed chicken flew out of the Scottish girl's mouth and landed on Darcy's robes.

Giving her friend the evil eye, Darcy flicked the food off her sleeve and explained, "I didn't want you guys making a big deal about it. So I didn't say anything. I knew you'd find out soon enough anyway." She stabbed a slice of tomato from her gold plate and slipped it into her mouth.

"So where's your Head Girl badge, DC?" queried Toby as he sipped at his pumpkin juice.

"Oh!" She'd forgotten all about the little piece of metal with the big connotations, still concealed beneath her sweater. With a sigh of resignation, she relocated it to the collar of her robe, and flashed the shiny thing at Toby. "Better now?"

"Much."

She went back to consuming her dinner, choosing carefully from amongst the variety of dishes. Having spent the first ten years of her life growing up in the United States, Darcy still tended to be picky about the British dishes they served at school. To this day she refused to touch the so-called blood pudding, despite numerous assurances that there was, in fact, no blood in it. Luckily, the main course soon disappeared off the tables, replaced by dessert, which she had no reservations about indulging in quite freely. By the time the last dishes were cleared, she was feeling rather full indeed.

With the feast concluded, Dumbledore rose once more. "Now, if Prefects will please lead first-years to their House common rooms, I ask all students second-year and up to wait here momentarily until your newest classmates have been settled in."

At this pronouncement Darcy again found her feet and as she did so, tugged off the pointed black hat she'd been wearing the majority of the evening. She tossed it to Brian. "Bring this up for me when you all come, huh? Stupid thing's making my head itch." To the first-years, she announced, "All right, Gryffindor kids, care to follow me?" and started off down the Great Hall with a line of young witches and wizards in her wake.

As they began to traverse the series of staircases and corridors that would lead them to the common room, she gave a running narration to her charges. "In case any of you fell mysteriously deaf when my name was announced _loudly_ in the Great Hall, I am Darcy Reed, your Prefect for the year. If you've ever got a problem, or a question, or just need someone to talk to, I will always, _always_ be ready to listen." She grinned back at them. "Any questions so far?"

The first-years stared back at her uncertainly, wanting to trust her but still too dazzled by their new home to trust much of anything their eyes showed them.

Darcy shrugged. "Okay. Follow me then." She set up the stairs, careful to move slowly enough for the others to keep up, and making the occasional remark as she went. "I know right now it seems easy to get lost—and _believe_ me, it is—but in a week you'll know Hogwarts like the back of your hand… Yes, the paintings can be rather chatty at times, but don't worry about them… We're almost there, not far…"

An immense portrait of an equally immense woman in pink came into view as they turned down a final corridor, and she said with a smile, "This is it, home sweet home—"

Gasps and screams from the first-years made Darcy turn sharply in time to see her ten young charges scattering away from something lurching up the hallway, and she felt a cold chill of panic herself when she spotted it—a giant angry black wasp, roughly the size of a large dog, buzzing its way up the corridor with its foot-long stinger held menacingly at the ready.

Moving to put herself between the wasp and the first-years, she went instantly for her wand, every last nerve in her body lit with electricity and adrenaline pulsing furiously through her system. Her mind was racing with all the possible spells she could use to eliminate the insect… when a thought occurred to her. She groaned aloud, all the tension in her shoulders releasing, and with an almost lazy flick of her wand she muttered at the creature, "_Riddikulus!_" Instantly the wasp's wings disintegrated, its stinger was replaced with a bouquet of roses, and the disabled creature dropped helplessly to the floor. When the first-years huddled behind her began to snicker at the sight, the creature disappeared all together.

"What _was_ that?" queried one of the students, but Darcy failed to hear him, her momentary fear having been replaced with sudden irritation.

Loud enough for her voice to echo down into the hall, she bellowed, "_Weasleys_!" and watched as two red-haired, freckle-faced second-years emerged from a door hidden beneath a tapestry, identical mischievous grins on their identical faces. She waited until they both stood flanking her to remark, "And which one of you's brilliant idea was it to ambush us with a Boggart? If I'm up all night counseling first-years with nightmares, I'm going transfigure you both into gym socks and wear you to my next Quidditch practice."

"Sorry about that, DC," said one of the duo, "we hadn't meant it for you."

The other chimed in, "Yeah, we were waiting for Percy when the little prat got away from us." He turned to his partner in crime. "I _told_ you not to open the box, Fred!"

Darcy rolled her brilliant blue eyes skyward, but the smile on her face was indulgent. "Why must you two always be terrorizing your older brother? He's got enough stress without you releasing random Boggarts on him." She started down the hall again, with either redhead at her sides. "Why don't you focus your energies on someone more deserving, like that big troll Marcus Flint from Slytherin? I heard he made Quidditch captain this year."

"Oh, we've got much bigger plans in store for Flint," said the brother labeled Fred. "Should be ready in about a week, right George?"

The other nodded eagerly. "You'll love it, Darcy."

"I'm sure." She allowed herself a smirk at the twins' antics as they all stopped in front of the portrait and regarded the Fat Lady with politely. The Fat Lady stared back for a moment, first considering the new Gryffindors, then suspiciously eyeing the Weasley twins, before finally turning a warm smile on Darcy.

"Have a nice summer, dear?" the portrait asked her kindly.

"Delightful, ma'am. I had the chance to develop a few new Quidditch strategies that, I think, may just win us the Cup this year."

The Fat Lady clucked approvingly, "Lovely, lovely. Do you have the password?"

"Blazing Bludgers," she recited, and added with a smile, "Apparently I'm not the _only_ one who's been thinking about the Quidditch Cup." At this the Fat Lady chortled and swung open to admit the small group of Gryffindors, Darcy in the lead as she stepped into the common room and stopped in front of the staircase up to the dorms. She took a moment to admire the comforts of the familiar room—plush scarlet chairs and couches, large oak tables for evening homework, vast stone fireplace. The fireplace alone brought instant memories of returning to the common room after particularly nasty Quidditch practices, ice cold and her robes soaked with mud, only to curl up in front of the fireplace and find herself warm and contented again in a matter of minutes.

Once the first-years had gathered around her, the Weasley twins still in their midst, she finished the last of her explanatory speech. "Welcome to the Gryffindor common room. One of the best places to be in the entire castle, in my opinion. Upstairs and to the left are boys' dorms, same on your right for girls. I think you guys are the… fifth floor up, I want to say? Anyway. You'll find all your things already waiting for you, including your new Gryffindor robes, and other than that, you're free to explore."

Chattering among themselves, the group of ten split up, leaving Darcy with Fred and George. The former was fiddling with something in the pocket of his robes while the latter asked her, "So who are you going to ask to the Yule Ball?"

The blonde cocked a skeptical eyebrow at the redhead. "George, honey, it's only September; the Ball's not for another three and a half months," she told him, and then added, almost as an afterthought, "Plus I'll probably go with Kotter. He _is_ my boyfriend, after all."

"Oh, go on, DC, that great git doesn't deserve you any more than… than… Marcus Flint!" protested Fred, whatever he'd been fiddling with forgotten for the moment.

George chimed in, "Yeah, you can't fool us, DC, we saw him when Dumbledore called your name tonight as Head Girl! He must've been the only person not clapping in that whole Hall, even the ruddy Slytherins were! He doesn't even act like he cares about you!"

"Unless, of course, someone else is watching," added Fred.

"Or trying to talk to you," agreed George.

"Or looking your direction—"

"Yes, yes, I get it," she interrupted wearily, using her fingertips to rub at the headache that was trying to form behind her eyes. "Believe me, I know exactly what you're talking about. Don't think I haven't thought it myself a million times or more. It's just… I've been dating him so long, and my parents seem to like him, and I know he'll be very successful in the future…"

The twins were shaking their heads in disappointed unison. "So you're staying with him because it's easy?" Fred filled in.

Darcy started to argue, then shrugged and said, "Yeah, you've pretty much hit it on the head there." As they both opened their mouths to argue again, she quickly interjected, "Listen, neither of you need to be worrying about my business with Kotter; things are a lot more complicated than I could explain to you at the moment. Just believe me when I say I'll take care of things…" she noted the downtrodden looks on their faces, and added, "and remember that things are never as final as they seem. You never know what could happen between now and the Yule Ball."

Grins came back to the identical redheads, and they left her just as the portrait swung wide, admitting the rest of the members of Gryffindor House.


	4. The Show Must Go On

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Four

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Keely yawned loudly, mouth gaping open wide enough for Darcy to see her tonsils within before the Scottish girl snapped her jaw shut and slid out of her seat on the sofa. "Well, I don't know about you," she said, glancing around at the assembly of seventh-years around the fire, "but I'm going up to bed."

The group of six were the last remaining Gryffindors in the common room, all their brethren retired up to the dorms. According to Darcy's watch, it was some time after midnight, and she wanted very much to join her friend as the brunette lurched sleepily up the stairs. In fact, she'd wanted to go to bed for over an hour now, but she hadn't. In truth, she _couldn't_, or the argument she knew was shortly coming would be held upstairs in the dorms for all to hear, and it was so much easier just to wait and be assured privacy.

No one else could've guessed that Darcy was dreading the departure of her companions. In fact, she wouldn't have been surprised if a great many of them had retired early, thinking she wanted to spend a few minutes alone with her boyfriend to… _catch up_. They had all watched Kotter spend the evening fussing over her—peppering her with little kisses, offering her backrubs, hinting at the gifts he was thinking of buying her, and of course constantly dropping the 'L' word. He had even made quite the display of apologizing to her for his behavior in the Great Hall. They had smiled wistfully, admiring and envying the perfect couple. They had politely teased them with queries about children's names and wedding dates. They had bought right into the act, just like they always did.

Darcy, however, being an actress herself, did not believe a minute of it. This was Kotter's way of showing the world that she was _his_ property, including all exclusive rights and privileges. It was also a message to those, like the Weasley twins, who dared to show interest in Darcy beyond the realm of mere schoolmate friendship. A message that Kotter Baines did _not_ like to share his toys.

Staring longingly up at the dorms, where her comfy, familiar bed lay waiting, she thought about her own role performed over the course of the evening, that of passive puppet. She hadn't played in to Kotter's "loving couple" routine, but neither had she resisted it, content to simply exist for the moment; others could take from it what they wanted. She knew Fred and George saw the truth, and Brian of course, maybe a few others, but she didn't care.

Toby was standing up now, as well, with Loren joining him momentarily. "I haven't got up before noon in two months; I better go to bed now," remarked Toby and, bidding Darcy goodnight with a ruffle to her wavy gold locks, he headed upstairs, a sleepy-looking Loren in tow. Finally, just she, Kotter, and Brian remained. She could tell Brian was reluctant to leave, debating whether or not to intervene in the couple's affairs and spare her the pain of another argument. Touching as his motives were, she could also tell Kotter was getting irritated.

"Go on up to bed, Bri," she said finally, leaning over to kiss his cheek and whispering in his ear, "It'll be fine. _I'll_ be fine. Promise." She leaned back again, shot him a smile. "Night."

Hesitantly he stood, eyed the two, and eventually forced an uneasy smile. "Goodnight Darcy. I'll see you tomorrow morning then, at breakfast." He started to walk away, then hastily thought to add, "You too, Kotter," before disappearing up the staircase.

They were now alone, and the silence had never been so oppressive. Kotter still had his arm about her shoulders, drawing her close to him, and between his body heat and the warmth of the fire, Darcy felt rather lightheaded as beads of sweat trickled down her back. She'd removed her robes long ago, but her sweater and button-down held the heat to her flesh like an oven. What she wouldn't give to escape upstairs, slip out of her stifling wool school uniform and into her favorite silk pajamas, and then between the cool cotton sheets of her bed…

Another long moment of silence stretched painfully out, and Darcy knew this was another way Kotter controlled her. Things always had to start on _his_ terms. If she spoke first, tried to pull the first punch, he would simply postpone the argument to a later time when the initial blow was his, and usually did so at times she wasn't expecting it—like when they were in crowded places. And so again, she found herself forced to play by his rules.

She nearly breathed a sigh of relief when he finally spoke, but the question he asked knocked all the breath right out of her instead. "So what were you doing alone today with that fourth-year, Wood?"

"_Excuse me_?" she demanded, inexplicably offended by the query.

Kotter continued on as though she'd never spoke. "I heard Brian say you told him you didn't know Wood, and yet you two seemed friendly enough to be holding hands. Merlin, Darcy, if you're going to cheat on me, at least have the sense to it somewhere private. I thought you were smarter than that," he sneered, making sure she got the full effect of his insult.

A laugh of exasperation left the blonde as she stared at him incredulously. "Love of god, Kotter, you think I'm cheating on you? _Please_!"

"Well, I _know_ what I saw in that cabin. I _do_ have eyes!"

He took his arm off her shoulders with a quick jerk, allowing her to scout away from him to the other end of the couch. Freed from his firm grasp, Darcy immediately slipped her sweater over her head and unbuttoned the top few buttons of her shirt, delighting in the cool that flooded her body. Comfortable now, she was ready to fight, and turned to face him as though they were dueling opponents. The cold, cruel words they would likely soon be flinging at each other were perhaps even more potent than the worst curses.

"You know, I think it's about time you got your eyes checked," she shot back, folding her arms defensively over her chest. "You seem to see a lot of things, Kotter. According you, I'm cheating with every guy that crosses my line of vision."

Unable to properly respond to that, he instead countered, "I notice you haven't answered my question about Wood yet. Got something to hide?"

Darcy glowered at him. "Yeah, Quidditch strategies," she snapped sarcastically, and at his look of confusion, she added, "Brian told me I might want to talk to Oliver Wood about becoming Gryffindor's Keeper, only I couldn't remember who Wood was. While I was looking for my food, I happened to run into him, and we were in the process of introducing ourselves when you arrived. Hence, the handshake—and yes, that's all it was, a goddamn handshake."

"To _me_ it looked like—"

"I don't _care_ what it looked like to you! I'm sick of this, Kotter, you seeing something happening every time I so much as _speak_ to a member of the opposite sex, it's ridiculous! We went through this same routine three years ago when I started studying with Percy Weasley, and then again last year when Fred and George arrived!"

Angrily he hissed, "You _know_ how I feel about the Weasleys, Darcy. None of them are any good, just look at those twins! Always in trouble. The type who'd get with any girl just because they could. And Percy is a stuck-up, anal retentive, know-it-all who spends your so-called 'study sessions' staring at you and pining away for you because he knows you're too good for him."

"I'm not too good for _anybody_, Kotter, and you don't know a thing about Percy. He's got a brilliant, kind heart and a sharp wit, but you've got to get past his defenses first, which is something you'd never bother to do, because judging people without really knowing them is so much easier for you, isn't it? As for the twins, they're just trying to have fun. They love life, and they're trying to enjoy themselves while they still can. I can see why that would threaten you, though, I mean—god, forbid anyone ever enjoy themselves, right Kotter?"

"Not when it's at _my_ expense!"

She laughed cruelly, "Oh that's right, I forgot. Kotter's famous image. Can't be tarnished. Can't be part of a House where people actually have fun. Can't have a girlfriend who has a mind of her own. Then maybe you got the wrong girl, hun." She gave her hair an indignant toss.

A long pause from the male Gryffindor, then, "Maybe I do."

"Well, good, it's about time we both agreed on that," she quickly replied, her expression dead sober. "Just say the word, Kotter, and you are free. No, I take that back. Say the word, and let _me_ be free. You're the one who holds the leash in this relationship anyway, you've made that perfectly clear. You want out? Fine, I'm out. But you have to let me go then, too."

Kotter seemed to be considering this with an air of cool disinterest, but Darcy could see in his eyes a sudden glimmer of fear. She'd hit the cord; the battle was now hers… but would by no means yield the results she desired. She _wanted_ for him to say he didn't want her anymore, maybe even that he never wanted to speak to her again, that she made him sick. That would mean he would leave her alone and she was finally free. But no, the only thing she'd succeeded in again tonight was instilling in him the fear he was losing her, which would make him cling to her that much tighter.

Apparently he'd finished contemplating her last threat. He was staring down the couch at her with a set look on his features. "You're not going to talk to Wood again," he said with finality.

"Um, I'll talk to whomever I _want_, thank you," she replied, feeling disgusted with her so-called 'relationship' and overbearing boyfriend. "And one more command like that from you and I promise you, I will cut this relationship off right now, no coming back."

"Oh, Darcy, don't do that!" he suddenly pleaded, and hearing the desperation in his own voice, he quickly added in a nonchalant tone, "I mean, don't be ridiculous. You know I'd do anything for you. You name it, I'll do it baby. If you want to talk to Wood, or those psychotic twins, or know-it-all Weasley, that's your choice. Okay?"

"Okay." Darcy wished she could scream.

Before she could react, Kotter had closed the distance between them and was beside her again, reaching out to grasp her face in his hands. "You know I love you, right? You know that," he told her, kissing each eyelid before moving down to her lips. She let him have a moment of rolling his tongue around her mouth, but when his hand began to slip conspicuously up toward her breast, she pulled away.

"I'm tired, Kotter," she said, on her feet and stepping away from the couch before he could catch her, bring her back. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"I love you, DC," came his voice as she hurried up the staircase.

"I really wish you didn't," she whispered, and disappeared into the quiet darkness of her dorm room. She could hear Keely, her only roommate's quiet snores from behind the drawn curtains of the Scot's bed and a glance at her own bedside alarm clock told Darcy it was just after two in the morning. She changed swiftly into her pajamas, crawled into her familiar, comfy bed, drew the curtains around, and lay back. Above her, the canopy twinkled with stars; it was enchanted in much the same fashion as the Great Hall, a parting gift from Charlie Weasley when he graduated after her first year, as she took his place as Gryffindor Seeker. He had added a special charm to hers that would react to her moods, and when she felt particularly low, a glorious meteor shower would appear over her bed. Tonight, a million falling stars seemed to be streaking across her special nightscape.

Exhausted despite her troubled mind, it took only a few minutes before the stars overhead worked their magic, and Darcy soon joined Keely in the warm confines of slumber.


	5. Morning Watch

****

Fixing To Fly

Chapter Five

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She had been dreaming before she awoke, something about Kotter getting bitten by a tuna fish and George and Fred Weasley trying to steal her favorite pair of silk boxer shorts, but the details of the dream faded away as her sapphire eyes fluttered open. Hints of blue and purple had just begun to touch the stars above her head, and as she peeked out from the barrier of her bed curtains, she saw that a dim glow lit the room. Her watch proclaimed the hour to be half past five and, though she'd slept only a few hours, Darcy found herself feeling rejuvenated.

Without really thinking about it, she climbed out of bed and changed into her Quidditch robes, grabbing her new Nimbus before slipping quietly out of the dorm. The common room was, unsurprisingly, empty, as was the majority of the castle she passed through on her way to the Quidditch pitch. She had over two hours before breakfast began at eight, plenty of time to get the hang of her new broomstick and squeeze in a little practice with the Snitch.

The sun peeked over the horizon as she set foot on the glistening green grass of the pitch, accompanied by a warm breeze that tossed her gold locks around as she mounted her broom. She had just kicked off the ground and was starting a slow climb towards the sky when she realized she was not alone—a figure flitted between the goal posts at the opposite end of the pitch, dodging in and out between the three raised hoops.

Curious, she drifted over toward the mystery player, and as she drew closer, she saw that whoever it was wasn't just flying around the hoops, they were defending them. A charmed Quaffle made sudden swoops at the goals, only to be intercepted by the practicing Keeper and thrown back toward the middle of the pitch, where it would pause a brief moment before coming around once more.

Darcy found herself intrigued watching the unknown player, impressed at the speed and skill with which they handled the Quaffle. Sleek, graceful spins and twists were used to intercept, while deft flying kept the player in position to continually defend whichever goal the Quaffle next plunged for. In the following two hours she spent watching, she could count on one hand the number of times the Quaffle actually made it through a hoop.

Sun had fully flooded the pitch when the unknown Keeper caught the Quaffle for the last time, sweeping back down toward the ground with the soccer-ball-sized red orb clutched beneath one arm. As he glided closer—and indeed, she realized, it was a he—Darcy recognized the soft, cherubic features of none other than Oliver Wood. Brian had definitely not been lying when he'd said the fourth-year had talent.

Swiftly Darcy flew off the pitch and back into the shadows of the stands before Wood could see her, not wanting the boy to know she'd spent the past two hours watching him. Besides, it was nearly time for breakfast now anyway, likely the reason Wood was leaving as well. She flew back up to the castle with a pondering mind; watching Mr. Wood had given her much to think about.


	6. A Friend Indeed

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Six

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"It's about time you joined us, oh Quidditch Queen," announced Keely as Darcy sat down beside her at the Gryffindor table. A plate of eggs and bacon was immediately thrust before her, accompanied by a glass of buttermilk. Darcy stared skeptically down at the grease-laden food.

"What, no pork rinds?" she queried with sarcasm.

Keely only grinned back at her. "Nope. Ate those up first so you couldn't have any," the Scot said and jammed a dripping strip of bacon into her mouth with relish.

Nose wrinkled in disgust, the blonde reached past her friend for a plate of cinnamon-raison english muffins and apple butter. "Do you really think that's such a good idea, eating all that crap?" she asked as she buttered her muffin. "Last time you ate a huge breakfast like that, we ended up having Potions as our first class and you puked pancakes and ham all over Snape. He took points off Gryffindor every day for the next six _weeks_ because of that."

"It's okay this year," Keely answered around a mouthful of oatmeal. "I've got Care of Magical Creatures first thing today." She waved a piece of parchment at Darcy, her schedule for the year. "Oh yeah, and I've got yours, too. Lucky little prat, you've got a free period for first class this morning." The brunette produced a second slip of parchment from her bag and thrust it into Darcy's hands.

"Good, maybe I'll actually get a chance to do more than hover on my Nimbus yet this morning," she muttered to herself as she jammed the paper into the pocket of her robes after giving it a quick glance.

"What's that?" asked Keely.

"Nothing. Never mind." Darcy selected a ripe green apple from a nearby bowl and was crunching contentedly on it when Brian dropped down beside her. Tiny shadows had appeared under his eyes from the previous late night, but his visage was wide awake as he flashed her a brilliant smile.

"Glad to see you're still alive and breathing," he said, then in a lower tone, "So is the play finally over or did you just finish another intermission?"

This was the way they'd taken to talking about Darcy and Kotter's relationship when they weren't alone; Darcy considered the metaphor to be stunningly accurate. "Apparently there's yet another act left in the drama that is my life," she related with a weary sigh, watching as Brian's hopeful expression fell. "Trust me, no one is more surprised then I am; I seriously thought last night would be the end of it."

He took her hands within his own. "I'm sorry, Darcy. I know how tired you are of it all."

"Yeah, not to mention absolutely _stupid_ for not putting my foot down and ending it myself." She sighed again, rubbed at the bridge of her nose where a headache was trying to form. "But I know unless _he's_ the one to end it, I'll never get away from him. He'll just keep coming back and harassing me and it'll end up being worse than it is now."

"You don't have to explain to me, babes, I know it." Smiling, Brian swept a lock of gold off her brow. "Merlin knows how strong you are."

Finally she allowed herself to return the smile. "Or how foolish. But I digress. While we're on the subject of fools, where is Kotter anyway? I would've imagined he'd be down here with me practically in a headlock to show the world I'm still his possession." She failed to miss the twinge of bitterness in her own voice.

"Bugged out early, before you walked in. Couldn't tell you where he went," he said with a shrug, then glanced at his watch. "Damn, I've got to get going. First class is Advanced Divination and it'll take me at least ten minutes to get to the North Tower." As he collected his books, he added, "Not that it really matters, of course. Before I left last year, Professor Trelawny predicted I'd be late seventy-two times this year."

"And you actually believe that old bat?" came Keely's voice from Darcy's other side.

Brian shrugged. "Not really. But I'd hate to disappoint her." He flashed the two girls a mischievous smile that instantly had them laughing. "Come on, Keely. While _some_ of us—ahem, _Darcy_—have the luxury of a free period this morning, the rest of us minions have to get to class. We'll see you later, DC."

"See you in Charms for second class!" called Keely as they left the Great Hall.

The breakfast crowd had thinned out significantly, with only those students like herself who had first class free lingering to enjoy a few last quiet minutes. Grabbing a last bite of english muffin and a sip of orange juice, Darcy gathered her own belongings and started back towards the dorms, intent on getting to the Quidditch pitch once more. It felt like _ages_ since she'd been able to practice with the Snitch… alright, maybe only a few days. She was sharing a secret smile with herself as she crossed the Entrance Hall when a voice from behind called her name.

"Darcy! Wait up!"

She turned to see Oliver Wood sprinting towards her, two books balanced under the same arm that he'd carried the Quaffle with only a few hours earlier. Patiently she waited till he joined her, panting and puffing. "Thanks," he gasped. "Mind if I walk with you?"

"I'm just headed for the common room," she said with a shrug.

"That's fine. On my way to Transfigurations," Oliver replied, indicating one of the books he held. Raising a curious eyebrow, she decided not to mention that the Transfigurations classroom was in the exact opposite direction. They had walked in silence for a few moments before he said, "So, how's your morning been?"

"Early." She laughed, giving her hair a playful toss.

He flashed a smile at her, and for the first time Darcy noted he stood about three inches over her own 5'6". "Yeah, crawling out of bed this morning was particularly nasty," he agreed, easily keeping step with her as they climbed the stairs side by side. "Definitely going to have to skip out on the late night tonight."

"Tell me about it." Her argument with Kotter made an instant replay in her mind.

"Um, Darcy…" Oliver began, looking wholly uncomfortable and refusing to meet her gaze as they waited for their staircase to finish moving. "Can I talk to you about something?"

She'd been bracing herself against the banister to keep from falling as the staircase shimmied and jolted its way around; now her fingers tightened on the railing as she decided he must've seen her that morning after all. She quickly formulated an excuse in her mind as she told him, "You can talk to me about anything, Wood, you know that."

Gaze fixed on his shoes, he picked at a loose string on his robes as he said, "Well, um… last night, I was… it was late, and I wasn't really sleepy, and I thought everyone had gone up to bed… I was going down to the common room, to sit in front of the fire, you know? And I, um… er, well, I, ah, I saw you and, um… Kotter? Is that his name? Yeah, Kotter. I saw you two, and I was getting ready to head back upstairs when, um… well, I… I heard, um…"

"You heard our argument," finished Darcy, as a strange wave of relief washed over her.

"I'm really sorry if I got you into any trouble yesterday and I'm sorry I was eavesdropping on your conversation, but I didn't want to move in case I made any noise and you heard me and then he would've gotten even _more_ angry at you, and I didn't mean to—"

Before he could ramble on too long, she quickly interrupted him. "Oliver, Oliver! It's okay, I don't care if you heard us. I'm just sorry you had to listen to… to those things Kotter said." She thought for a moment, then added, "Not that what _I_ said was very nice either."

His head was still bowed, but he finally looked her in the eye. "You didn't sound like you were too happy, if you don't mind me saying," he said softly.

A sad sort of smile touched her lips. "No, I suppose I didn't."

Oliver opened his mouth as if to speak, then apparently thought better of it. Instead he told her, "I, um, I know that you said I can talk to you about anything… but I want you to know that, well… that it works both ways." He was gazing deeply into her eyes now, his guileless features the picture of sincerity. "If you need someone to talk to anytime… I'd be more than willing to listen. If you want."

Once again, Darcy found herself amazed by the fourth-year she barely knew, and again she felt guilty that this was the first chance she'd gotten to know him. She grinned beautifully up at him, bringing a flush to the younger boy's cheeks. "That's really sweet of you," she said, "and I may just take you up on that. But you're going to be late to class if you don't get going now."

"Yeah, guess so," agreed the fourth-year, but he was smiling now too. "I'll see you later."

"Sure. Why don't you sit by me at lunch? I still need to talk to you about Quidditch try-outs next week, and I'll introduce you to the rest of the team, if you don't know them already. Is that okay with you?"

Oliver brightened. "Yeah, sure."

Waving at him as she turned down the corridor to the common room and he headed off toward Transfigurations, she realized that she was suddenly looking very forward to lunch.


	7. Choices of a Captain

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Seven

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"You _must_ be crazy, DC. Bringing _him_ of all people into our little circle, and putting him in Kotter's place no less! I thought Kotter was going to eat his face!" exclaimed Keely as she and Darcy hurried their way through the dungeons after lunch. They had only a few minutes before the bell rang, and neither dared be late for Snape's class.

Glancing at her watch, Darcy sped up her run to a sprint. "I was unaware I had to ask permission now to invite people to sit by me at lunch," she shot back, as they skidded to a stop in front of the Potions classroom. "Besides, you can't tell me that you don't like Oliver Wood, after he spent the whole lunch hour cracking us all up. He's got to be the nicest guy on the face of the planet! Kotter just doesn't like him because… well, Kotter doesn't really like anyone."

"Except the Slytherins, apparently," Keely whispered, elbowing her friend in the ribs as they entered the class. At the back of the room was a group of seventh-year Slytherins with Kotter in their midst. He didn't even look at her as she entered.

The blonde shrugged unconcernedly. "Good, that means he won't be trying to sneak me Love Potions all class." They headed for the only two seats left in the room, those directly in front and adjacent to Snape's desk. Darcy almost groaned at this, but thought better of it as she noticed the potions master giving them a particularly foul look. They managed to slip into their chairs just as the bell rang.

In a flourish of black cloak, Snape rose, and was suddenly bearing down upon the two Gryffindor girls. "Well, well, well. Miss Merath and Miss Reed. I had hoped I would have a year without you two cluttering up my classroom, but obviously fate has seen fit to punish me yet again. Do I need to get you bucket, Miss Merath, just in case you're feeling queasy?"

"No, sir," Keely ground out, clenching her fists beneath the table. Darcy bit down on her tongue to keep from laughing.

Snape eyed them both dangerously as he growled, "Do not think that because this is your last year you will be allowed to get away with any little games in my class. I will be keeping a very close watch on you—especially _you_, Miss Reed, and will not hesitate to write out punishment at the tiniest hint of misbehavior." A last penetrating glare, and then he turned to the rest of the class, which had been watching the unfolding drama up front with great interest. "Today we will be producing Aging Potions. Half the class with make Youth Serums, the other half will make Maturation Elixirs. At the end of the class, we will have a volunteer to test these." He sent a dagger-filled glance at Darcy, and she could guess who that volunteer would be. "If both potions are mixed correctly, they should perfectly counteract each other, leaving the drinker as he or she is currently. If either potion is incorrect…" he managed a sickly smile, "then we shall see some… _interesting_ results." With that, he swept off to the chalkboard to write up the lists of ingredients.

"You'll be lucky if the Slytherins don't purposefully screw up their potions so you have to drink them," muttered Keely as she rooted around her bag for her vial of porcupine quills. 

"I wouldn't put it past them," agreed Darcy, though she thought if anyone sabotaged their potion, it would be Kotter. He was looking particularly sinister in the back of room as he mixed dried garden slugs into his simmering, orange-hued potion. She chose to ignore the hurt, angry look he shot at her and instead focused on properly concocting her Maturation Elixir.

The hour and a half of Potions class went by far too quickly, and suddenly Snape was standing before her desk, his lips twitching into a nasty smirk. "If you are all finished with your potions, I believe it is time to see how well you've done," he announced and turned to Darcy. She swore she almost saw pleasure on his features as he said, "As we have our most dignified Head Girl with us today, perhaps she would be so kind as to volunteer to test them?" In a low tone only she and Keely could hear, he added, "That was _not_ a request, Miss Reed."

Resigned to her fate, Darcy stood, and was waiting patiently as Snape selected the most badly-mixed Youth Serum in the class—when the dungeon door banged heavily open, revealing the smirking freckled faces of the Weasley twins.

"Professor McGonagall wants to talk to Captain Reed," said one of the twins—it was George, Darcy could tell from the tiny dimple in his left cheek.

"Emergency meeting to discuss this year's Quidditch team," added Fred.

Snape rounded on the twins, and for a moment, Darcy swore he was going to pull out his wand and hex them both into toads. Instead he bellowed, "Miss Reed is in the middle of class. She will not be leaving until we are finished with the lesson!"

Fred grinned impishly at the potions master. "But we've got a note!" he protested, shoving a piece of parchment in Snape's anger-flushed face. "The professor told us not to come back without Captain Reed, and we don't intend to disobey her." The twins looked positively delighted at being allowed to cause trouble without fear of punishment, especially since the victim of their mischief was Snape.

Looking positively livid, Snape glared from the blonde to the redheads and back again, before a smirk revived on his features. "All right then. If Miss Reed must leave, then Miss Merath, you can test our—"

"She's got to come too, Professor Snape!" Darcy blurted out, the fearful, pleading look on Keely's face giving her the courage to challenge Snape's wrath. Careful not to turn her back on the potions master, who was now so furious he was practically foaming at the mouth, the blonde queried to the Weasleys, "That note's about an emergency meeting of the Quidditch team, right?"

They gave her identical nods.

"Well, Keely's a Beater, she's got to be there too, then," she said quickly, giving said Scot a nudge to get the other girl moving. Keely gave a starting little jerk, then began to rapidly pack up her belongings before Snape got the chance to protest. But the professor was no longer looking at the girls, as apparently another wickedly sinister plan had formed in his head.

"Fine," he said, waving at them dismissively. "Go then. We will just have to find someone else to be our test subject…" Darcy let out a long sigh of relief and was gathering her own things when she heard him add, "Perhaps Mr. Baines would make an adequate volunteer…"

Despite herself, the blonde spun, and saw Kotter staring back at her, wide-eyed and desperate. He seemed to have forgotten that he was mad at his girlfriend and mouthed an imploring _Help me!_ accompanied by a quick _I'm sorry!_ when Snape had turned his back on the male Gryffindor to glower at Darcy and Keely again.

"Unless you need something else, Miss Reed, I suggest you go," he snapped, though the dangerous smirk was back on his sallow, greasy features.

"Yeah, there's something else," she said, against her better judgement. "My Chaser." She nodded at Kotter, who looked intensely relieved. He quickly had his possessions stored away and slipped over to join them, giving Darcy a meaningful look of thanks. "I think I've got everything now. C'mon guys." She nodded at the door, wary of lingering too long now that she'd deflated all the professor's fun. Luckily, Snape just glared at them, apparently too disgusted to argue.

"Just get out," he muttered at them, "and I want a four-foot essay from all three of you by Friday describing the uses and properties of Aging Potions."

"Yes, Professor," they all mumbled submissively before hurrying out of the room.

When they'd made it safely out of earshot of Snape and the class, the three seventh-years heaved sighs of relief and Kotter instantly planted a long kiss on Darcy's lips. He said, "I am so, so sorry I was a jerk today at lunch, DC, I really am. Oliver can sit with us anytime. I mean, all you talked about was Quidditch, and he is a pretty funny guy…" This was the closest to understanding he'd ever been, and Darcy found that she was more than a little shocked, if not a bit wary.

Before she could reply, Keely slung a sisterly arm around her shoulders and said, "Well, I'm not going to kiss you or anything, but I will tell you you're the best friend a girl could have. And I give you permission to bring up this little event next time I call you a Quidditch Nazi."

The blonde laughed. "I'll have to remember that. But I cannot accept all the thanks for our escape. Let's hear some props for the _fabulous_ Weasley twins and their perfect timing, thank you very much Fred and George!" Keely and Darcy clapped and even Kotter gave a grudging nod of approval to the grinning redheads.

"Nah, all the pleasure was ours," countered Fred, leading the way toward the Transfigurations classroom where McGonagall was waiting. "To see the look on Snape's face!"

"I would've given my life savings to have that on camera," George agreed.

The seventh-years had to laugh as well, now that they weren't in hexing distance of Snape's wand. As they walked down the corridor past the Charms classroom, Darcy commented, "Well, since we've already got half the team here, we might as well collect the rest." She poked her head into the class and got Toby, Brian, and Loren dismissed with the parchment pass that had, in truth, been written only for her. Professor Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw House, gave a frown at the mention of a clandestine Gryffindor Quidditch team meeting, but didn't raise the fuss Snape had as three of his students left class early.

When they walked into the Transfigurations classroom, Professor Minerva McGonagall only eyed the group and said with a hint of amusement, "I see a few extra names seem to have made their way onto my note." Then she allowed a touch of smile to inhabit her normally stern features. "No matter. I suppose its better that you're all here anyway. Ah, you can go now, Weasleys, thank you for your assistance."

"They might as well stay, Professor," said Darcy, as she seated herself upon one of the desktops. "I can tell you right now they'll both make the reserve team."

At this George and Fred beamed proudly, McGonagall giving them only a thoughtful glance before she replied, "If you wish, Reed. Now I hope your professors don't mind that I dismissed you from class a bit early…"

The three students from Potions and the Weasley twins exchanged amused glances.

"…but I thought I might have a quick word with you about the Quidditch season. Generally I leave matters of Quidditch to the team itself, however… well, I suppose I best be frank with you. The truth is, I've grown rather fond of the lot of you, over the seven years now I've spent mentoring you, and your successes and achievements are very important to me. I know this is the last year for you six to see Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup—or the House Cup, for that matter—and I can only imagine how important that must be to you. So I will ask you now if there is anything I can do to help you accomplish this." McGonagall gave the assembled seventh-years a passing glance before her gaze stopped on Darcy, as though waiting for her response.

The Quidditch Captain and Seeker sucked in a long breath, then said, "I'm really not certain, Professor, if there's anything you can do…"

"Perhaps if you tell me your plans for the season, then?" suggest the professor.

All gazes seemed to have converged on Darcy, waiting patiently for her input. So she gave it to them. "Over the summer, I was able to come up with several new plays which I'll teach to the team once training begins. A few of them are a bit complicated and advanced, but I think this team can handle it. I also put a lot of work into mastering the Wronski Feint, and I'm pretty eager to try that out."

As McGonagall pressed, "What about the reserve team?" Darcy got the distinct impression the Transfigurations teacher was digging for something.

"Well, unless I see anything profound at tryouts, I can pretty much tell you who'll be on this year," the blonde replied, shooting a glance over at the Weasleys. McGonagall continued to stare at Darcy, an expectant look on her features, and the Seeker hazarded a guess at what the professor wanted. "And I think I know who I'll bring in as Keeper, too."

This seemed to be what McGonagall had wanted; eagerly she opened her mouth to speak when Keely's voice suddenly piped up, "I've got a thought." Seated next to Darcy, the Scot was nibbling pensively on her bottom lip as she glanced over at the blonde.

"What's that?" Darcy prompted.

"Well, if you already know who's on reserve, and who the Keeper is, why even have tryouts then? I think we're all eager to start practicing, and we'll be able to start a lot sooner if we don't have to go through the process of observing every Gryffindor who thinks they're talent on a broomstick. If we just went ahead and announced the new players on, say, Friday morning, we could start practice Saturday and have a whole week's advance on the other Houses."

Darcy stared thoughtfully at her female counterpart who, despite a cool façade, looked as though she was a bit nervous of the Quidditch captain's reaction to her proposal. Gifting the brunette with a gracious smile, Darcy mused, "Keely, your shining moments of brilliance, few and far between as they be, never cease to amaze me."

"Shut up," was the Scot's reply, but a pleased smile had befallen her features.

"I think it's a perfectly logical idea," the Seeker continued, glancing around at the remainder of her teammates. "Any thoughts from anyone else?"

Not even a second had passed before Toby protested, "It's not fair! You can't just _cancel_ tryouts, Darcy, it's not fair to the people who won't get a chance to prove themselves! Just because someone played one way last year doesn't mean they can't have improved over the summer. We'd feel pretty foolish if it turns out there's the next Arvo Moldoya in the crowd but he didn't get a chance to play because we canceled tryouts."

There were snorts of skepticism at the mention of the most famous Quidditch player of all time. "Right, like the next Moldoya would be at Hogwarts," Kotter mumbled under his breath.

Toby glared at his teammate fiercely. "Laugh all you want, but until he got to play on his school team, nobody knew Moldoya was anything more than your average, everyday wizard. Imagine if he'd have gone off to work at someplace like Gringotts without ever discovering his true potential."

"We're not here to wax philosophic, Tobias," Darcy interrupted before he could go on a Moldoya tangent. She knew that her Chaser practically worshipped the Quidditch great like a deity, the autographed picture on his bedside table that he spoke to every night proof of this. She glanced at her other two Chasers and Beater who had yet to speak. "Bri? Kotter? Loren? Any thoughts from you?"

Shrugging, Brian offered a half-smile. "I can see Toby's point, but I have to go with Keely on this one. I trust your judgement, DC, you know who's going to be right for the team. And to be honest, I'd love to get a jump this year on the Slytherin bast—" he paused in lieu of McGonagall's glare. "I mean, those aggressive but respectable Slytherins."

"I agree wiz Brian," said Loren. "I am also eager to beat ze Slytherins." He grinned at Darcy playfully. "And I also wish to zee you pull off ze Wronski Feint, DC."

The Quidditch captain looked to the only team member still silent. Kotter said simply, "I don't really have an opinion either way, so we might as well just do what Keely said. If nothing else, we gain practice time."

A brief nod from Darcy, then she stated decisively, "All right then. Most of us seem to be in agreement on this matter—"

"Hold on, don't we get an opinion on this?" came the protesting voice of George Weasley. She turned and shot him a rather venomous look, one that clearly announced that silence was his best option at the moment.

"Do you need an opinion?" she queried. Neither Weasley spoke. "Good. As I was saying. The majority of the team seems to concur, so I see no reason—sorry, Toby—why we can't just go ahead and skip this year's tryouts." She turned to McGonagall. "Do you have any suggestions on the issue, Professor?"

Another rare smile touched the teacher's wrinkled features. "I will tell Madame Hooch of your decision this evening," was all she said.

Darcy nodded, allowing a grin of her own. "It's settled. Friday morning, before breakfast, I'll announce in the common room the reserve teams and new Keeper. I'm counting on you all to get the word around so all the Gryffindors know, okay?" She met gazes with her five teammates before fixing her stare firmly on the Weasley twins. "And Fred, George, I know you guys are giddy, but I don't want you to say anything to anybody about you being on the reserve team just yet, all right? Wait till Friday to gloat."

"We promise," said George, with a smile that was, thankfully, honest and not mischievous.

Fred agreed, "Not a word till after you announce us."

"Thanks guys," she said, informally ending the meeting as she slid off her desktop seat and slung her bag over one shoulder. As the others began to disperse and head for the door, she quickly added, "And Gryffindor team: rest up and eat well the next few days. We start practice first thing after breakfast Saturday morning."


	8. Of Prefect Meetings and Midnight Rides

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Eight

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"I think everybody knows about Friday," said Brian as they sat down for dinner in the Great Hall. Indeed, an air of excitement permeated the Gryffindor table as its members chattered amongst themselves. Increased levels of spirited conversation at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables seemed to indicate that they, too, had heard the news, and even the Slytherins were showing signs of curiosity. All over the room, quick, questioning glances were continuously being shot at the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.

"Nobody causes chaos quite like our DC," Keely commented as she joyfully consumed a thick, juicy porterhouse steak. Bites of meat were broken up with the addition of mashed potatoes, corn casserole, and buttered French bread, while three individual slabs of pumpkin cheesecake sat flanking her plate, awaiting later ingestion.

On Darcy's plate was a single slice of quiche, sliced strawberries and pears, a mound of salad greens, and her one indulgence, a chocolate éclair. With a sense of amazement, she watched her Scottish friend zealously attack her meal.

"How in the name of _god_ do you eat so much and still stay so thin?" Darcy demanded after Keely had jammed a particularly huge chunk of pink meat into her mouth.

The brunette shrugged and smiled cheerfully. "What can I say? It's a gift. Besides, I—" she cut off, a dangerous look on her face as she spotted an unknowing first-year reaching for one of her cheesecakes. With a speed that was startling, she suddenly had her wand out and pointed menacingly at the first-year as an animalistic growl issued from her throat, causing the younger Gryffindor to yelp and pull away. Keely's smile returned in an instant and as though nothing had happened, she continued, "—balance the foods I eat. See? I've got vegetables. They're healthy."

Darcy didn't think that mashed potatoes smothered in butter and gravy counted as 'healthy,' but chose not to argue as Keely's wand still lay dangerously close within grasp. Instead, she nibbled a slice of strawberry and turned her attention to Oliver Wood, the fourth-year pushing his steak and kidney pie disconsolately around his plate.

"You okay over there, Wood?" she asked, drawing a start from the younger Gryffindor. "Knut for your thoughts?"

"Hmm? I'm okay," he replied and showed her a smile that was undeniably half-hearted. "Just thinking about something." His expression lightened a bit as he gazed at her. "Hey, you maybe wouldn't be able to, you know, give me a hint at who you've chosen for the new Keeper, huh?"

Playfully, she admonished him, "Nice try, smart guy. You know I can't."

He shrugged, attempting nonchalance that Darcy saw easily through. "Just thought I'd ask. Worth a try, right? Not that it matters; it's only four days till we all find out anyway."

"It's not half as long as it seems," she offered with a cheerful smile. "Don't worry, Oliver, you'll be proud of this year's Quidditch and reserve teams. In fact, I think that you'll—" her train of thoughts was interrupted as she spotted Manhattan swooping his way down through the Great Hall accompanied by a small squadron of additional owls. As the others dropped away to their respective owners, the graceful, tawny-faced barn owl circled toward Darcy and deposited a note in her lap before landing gently on her shoulder. She stroked the bird's smooth feathers, fed him a bit of chicken in reward for his delivery, and went about opening her letter as Manhattan took flight once more.

"What've you got?" Keely queried, peering over the blonde's shoulder to read.

"Note from McGonagall; first Prefect meeting of the year starts in about fifteen minutes. Attendance mandatory." Darcy sighed and slipped the paper into her robes. "And I've still got that bloody paper for Snape to write… Oh well. I'll tackle it tomorrow; I've got first and fourth class free. See you guys up in the dorm, huh?" She rose from the table, tucking her uneaten éclair into one pocket for later consumption.

"See you," chorused Brian, Kotter, Loren, and Toby; Keely had her mouth stuffed too full of food to do more than nod.

She flashed them a smile, then sent a last glance at Oliver. He'd stopped mutilating his dinner long enough to give her a quick wave as she departed. Turning on one of her most brilliant, thousand-watt grins for him, she mouthed the words, _Don't worry_, a last time before joining the line of Prefects slowly filing out of the Great Hall.

***

Four long hours after she had left her friends at dinner, Darcy drug herself exhaustedly through the portrait hole and into the welcoming warmth of the Gryffindor common room. The crowd of inhabitants seemed to be a bit thinner tonight, though it was still relatively early. She suspected many of her House mates had already gone up to bed in an attempt to gain back some of the sleep they'd lost the previous night.

A pleasantly warm night breeze was filtering in through an open window, and seated around it were Toby, Keely and Kotter, the latter two looking to be diligently at work on their Potions paper. Over by the empty fireplace, a small group of students had gathered around two third-years who were deep in a game of wizard chess; in an opposite corner, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan, another second year, were taking delight in practicing the new Transfiguration spells they'd learned that day—on Percy's glasses. Darcy could imagine the older Weasley brother upstairs in his dorm, resignedly squinting down at his homework as he'd tired long ago of chasing the twins for his glasses. A few others students were scattered around, engaged in various activities.

The only person she spotted alone was Oliver Wood, concealed in a dimly-lit corner and looking intensely focused as he alternated between scribbling furiously into a ledger he held in his lap and chewing on his thumbnail. She was headed toward him to see what the fourth-year was up to when Keely spotted her.

"Hey, DC! About bloody time you made it back!" the Scottish girl called, loudly enough to make even the two chess players glance up to see what the disruption was. When Oliver spotted her, he instantly slammed his book shut and hurried toward the dorms, managing a hasty smile and goodnight as he passed her. Before she could contemplate following him, Keely's impatient voice demanded, "Hellooo, Darcy? You with it?"

Reluctantly she turned away from the door where Wood had disappeared and joined her friends, falling into a seat beside Toby.

"We brought you back some books from the library," said Keely, depositing a stack of extremely heavy and extremely _dusty_ texts into the blonde's lap. "I've managed to write the majority of my Potions essay with stuff I found in those alone."

"Um, thanks…" Darcy relocated the stack to the floor before she could break into a sneezing fit.

Keely had closed the textbook she'd been working from and was gazing at her friend with keen interest. "So, are you going to tell us what your meeting was about, or is it top-secret Prefect business that you can't share with us common folk?" she teased as she made a mock grab for Darcy's Prefect badge.

Glaring at the Scot, Darcy slipped her robe off and out of Keely's reach. "Sorry to disappoint you, but tonight's meeting, like _every other_ Prefect meeting, was unspeakably dull."

"Yeah, well, it can't be any worse than this History of Magic paper," Toby said, pushing away his own work and angling his chair so he, too, faced Darcy. "So why don't you humor us and tell us about your evening."

The Prefect sighed dramatically, "_Fine_," and began recounting for them her meeting. It had started off with each Head of House giving a brief—or rather, not so brief—speech to the four assembled Prefects. This was probably the most entertaining portion of the evening for Darcy, as Ravenclaw Head Flitwick fell off his chair halfway through his speech and Snape, head of Slytherin, spent his time subtly bashing all the other Houses. They then moved into the standard recitation of behavioral expectations and setting a good example for the first years. Here she was forced to endure another long lecture from Snape about her apparent lack of control of the Weasley twins. He carried on for nearly an hour, ranting about how "Slytherin students _never_ behaved in such fashions," and how Slytherin Prefect Aiden Bissett, though only a fifth-year, could "at least control his House and properly perform his role as a leader." During this, Darcy nearly broke a rib trying not to laugh; she desperately wanted to tell the potions master he was under the wrong impression if he believed she was trying to _stop_ Fred and George, as half the time it was _her_ who gave them their best pranking ideas. Finally Professor McGonagall stepped in to calm Snape's tirade so they could discuss the upcoming Yule Ball and another event, one that would not be announced to the student body for an additional month—a Halloween Masquerade Ball. (This last thing she left out in her description to Toby and Keely; after all, some things were best left as surprises.) At last the meeting had ended with a brief little remark by Dumbledore, and the four Prefects had stumbled off their separate ways.

"Wow… what a boring life you lead," Keely intoned once Darcy had stopped speaking.

Too weary to argue, the blonde satisfied herself with giving her friend a vile glare. "Just for that, I'm not going to tell you what I learned about the Yule Ball," she said, hitting where she knew it would hurt the party-loving Scot the most.

Immediately Keely protested, "Hey! That's not fair! Tell me! I'll punch you in the thigh!"

"Okay, okay, good god, I'll tell you," Darcy replied, annoyed, as knew her reflexes were too slow from exhaustion at the moment to effectively dodge if Keely decided to hit her. "Jesus, you're like some sort of Scottish barbarian! 'I'll punch you in the thigh…' my god…" As the brunette raised a threatening fist, Darcy added quickly, "Besides, it's not that much of a surprise anyway. Me and Nick Levine are supposed to have dates so we can dance the opening dance, everybody's supposed to wear dress robes, and Dumbledore's going to try and book the Westside Wizards to play."

"Oh my god, the Westside Wizards! Brad and Kyle are so bloody hot!" Keely shrieked, attracting yet another set of curious looks from the rest of the common room's populace.

Toby rolled his eyes in disgust. "I heard they were all gay anyway," he sneered, but Keely was too busy fantasizing about how she would get the autographs of her favorite singers to take much notice of him. Instead he turned to Darcy. "Couldn't you get like, Dan Matthens Band or somebody _good_?"

Shrugging, the blonde replied, "Not my decision, Tobes."

He sighed, gathered his books, and stood. "And on that depressing note, I'm going up to bed. See if I can't dream up a spell to charm my ears so they only hear _good_ music, no matter what terrible love song the Leftside Lizards are playing."

"I _heard_ that!" Keely growled, looking vengeful. Scrambling together her own papers, she chased Toby up the stairs, no doubt to give him a lesson on the finer qualities of Brad, Kyle, RJ, Norm, and Hoby, the Westside Wizards.

Across from Darcy, Kotter was packing his things back into his bag, preparing to depart as well. When he noticed her watching, the male Gryffindor turned on what he must've thought was a seductive grin and asked her pointblank, "Since Keely will probably be busy harassing Toby for a while, want to go up to your dorm and snog?"

She stared at him for a moment, stuck between amazement at his temerity and amusement at his idiocy. "Well, as difficult as it is to resist an offer like _that_," she said, wondering if he even noticed her sarcasm, "I'm going to have to decline. Unfortunately, I was unable to spend the entire evening working on my four-foot Potions essay, as you and Keely were obviously doing, so I'm going to attempt to at least get it started tonight. Sleep well though, Kotter. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he muttered back, looking downtrodden as he shuffled upstairs.

Alone now, she took a look around the common room. The third-years' chess game had finally come to a conclusion, players and audience calling it a night, as well as a few of the other small groups that had been scattered about. The Weasleys still remained, but they'd tired of Transfiguring Percy's glasses and were randomly changing the color of Lee Jordan's dreadlocks, who'd dozed off on the floor.

Despite the sense of exhaustion that had claimed her body, Darcy did not feel tired in least. She sat for a long moment in her chair, dreamily contemplating what to do. According to her watch, it was after the eleven o'clock curfew and students were no longer allowed out of their dorms or common rooms, which killed her idea of heading down to the kitchen for a snack. She could, of course, send Fred and George down, or even sneak there herself, but she wasn't feeling particularly lucky tonight and didn't care to lose any House points so early in the year—_or_ have to experience another diatribe from Snape.

When her mind failed to offer any worthwhile suggestions, she contented herself to follow her House mates' example and make an attempt at sleep. She was in no mood to even _think_ about her Potions essay.

She bid goodnight to Fred and George, and after whispering to them a quick spell to turn Lee's dreads plaid and make them stand on end, she slipped upstairs to her empty dorm. She let her subconscious mind do the driving as she changed into a pair of tight black running shorts and a matching tank top, one of the outfits she reserved only for morning jogs and informal Quidditch practices. From her trunk, she removed her Nimbus and the small glass cube she kept her personal Golden Snitch in and sat down on her bed, drawing the curtains around the four-poster. As she stared down at the walnut-sized gold orb, gauzy wings innocently folded within its box, Darcy realized suddenly why she felt so restless.

A flood of eager adrenaline gave her muscles a good wake-up call as she peeked out of her bed curtains and contemplated the open dorm window.

Leaving the encased Snitch on her pillow, Darcy slid off her bed, making sure the curtains were closed completely. With any luck, Keely would believe her roommate was asleep and not bother to check, though it didn't really matter if she did. Darcy had been pulling this particular stunt since her first year and had yet to be caught. Keely, who had several little rule-breaking activities she liked to participate in herself, enjoyed a delightfully mutual "Don't ask, don't tell," policy with her only roommate.

Darcy mounted her broomstick, gave a light kick off the ground, and found herself instantly hovering. Carefully she aimed herself through the window, not desiring to clock her head again on the sill as she flew out. It had taken a full week last time before the bruise disappeared, and in that time, she'd had to deal with friends and teachers constantly asking her how she'd done it.

With a final cautious glance at the closed dorm door, she flattened her body to the broom—and soared out into the clear night sky, feeling a sense of release flood through her as she zoomed across the landscape. She angled straight up for the stars, rolled in midair, then took a drastic dive toward the ground, pulling up just in time to let the tips of her bare toes graze the grass before repeating the process over again, and again. She was the human embodiment of the Golden Snitch, darting and zooming across the sky, untamed; she was bathed by indescribable freedom, the laws of man and gravity no longer applying to her; she was pure joy, in a world where Potions essays and façade relationships and important decisions ceased to exist.

__

She was **alive**.

Encompassed by her euphoria, she did not recall her arrival at the Quidditch field, but as the haze of elation faded slowly from her mind, she found herself cruising in lazy figure-eight patterns around the three goal posts on the north side of the field.

"Damn," she murmured to herself with a laugh, running her fingers lovingly over the smooth surface of her broomstick. "I'm going to have to get Brian something _really_ nice for Christmas this year. This Nimbus is a _dream_."

As though it had heard her, the Nimbus allowed Darcy to do a graceful midair loop. It seemed to respond to her thoughts, moving as she willed it without hesitations or delays, as if they were one entity. No longer broomstick and rider, but a mere gust of wind.

She had completed a full circle of the field before spotting the well-known wooden crate, resting on the ground next to the entrance to the corridor that led to Gryffindor's locker room. Oliver Wood must have placed it there when he'd left the field that morning, though she couldn't imagine why. She drifted down beside the crate, popping the lid and staring at the Quaffle and two struggling Bludgers for a long minute before decisively grabbing the former and taking off back into the sky. It had been nearly five years since she'd played as a Chaser, but the motions were familiar, the Quaffle like an old friend tucked to her side.

Laughing at herself as she enjoyed a bit of playful exuberance, Darcy raced back and forth across the pitch, dodging invisible Bludgers and evading imaginary members of an opposing team. Yet all the while her mind was at work; new tactics were formulated and new plays concocted in preparation for when the opposing team would no longer be imagined and her own attentions would be turned not to a Quaffle, but a Snitch.

For nearly an hour she carried on, until her legs grew stiff and her fingers numb from holding onto the broomstick. A satisfying fatigue set through her being as she returned the Quaffle to its case and swooped back toward the castle, soundlessly slipping in once more through the dorm window.

Her alarm clock boasted the hour as three and Keely murmured softly in sleep as Darcy put away her broom and changed into proper pajamas. Soundlessly she crawled past the curtains into her own bed… and found a short note lying on her pillow.

Darcy,

Looked like you were having fun out there. I think you were born on a broom. Sometimes I envy you.

Keely

Smiling, Darcy carefully folded the note and placed it within the pages of the dog-eared and much-beloved copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ she kept at her bedside.

Stretched out beneath her cool cotton sheets and the spread of glistening stars on her canopy above, a drowsy contentment settled over the blonde. For a brief moment in time, all was right in her world, and not a single trouble lingered on her mind to delay sleep from overtaking her. The last vestiges of consciousness drifted away and blessedly, she slept.


	9. Who Needs Sleep?

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Nine

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tuesday morning dawned bright and early, and again Darcy was awake before the sun could rise. She was tired, yes, but the sense that something was left to be done found the blonde on her feet and dressing once more in her Quidditch robes. As she pulled the thick red and gold sweater over her head, her gaze fell on Keely's note, sticking slightly out of _Quidditch Though the Ages_. She glanced back at the bed where her friend lay asleep, and smiled slightly as she dug out a slip of parchment and hastily scribbled a note of her own.

Keely,

YOU SNORE.

Love, Darcy

After charming the note to hover above Keely's head, the first thing the Scot would see upon waking, Darcy slipped out of the castle.

He was already there when she entered the Quidditch pitch, just as he'd been the previous morning, and for a moment she found herself in a state of shock. It wasn't so much the fact that she'd _expected_ him to be there, rather the realization that she'd been afraid he _wouldn't_ be, that froze her to a spot beneath the goalposts and almost revealed her presence. She dodged into the shadows at the last moment, just as a dive brought him to the exact position where she'd been standing seconds prior.

The corridor to the Gryffindor locker room was open, and she swept back into it while he was distracted, taking a seat on the wooden floor where she could still see him hovering above. For the second time, Darcy watched Oliver practice his Keeping skills as the sun rose in the eastern sky, though it quickly became apparent that this morning was _not_ like the last.

As he played, Oliver's heart just didn't seem to be in it. He flowed through the motions mechanically—lunge here, flip there, grab and toss yet once more—but the joy was not present, nor the touch of extra exertion she'd witnessed before, the one that clearly professed Oliver Wood's love for Quidditch. Her memory instantly produced scenes from the previous night of him morosely picking at his dinner and later, in the common room, sitting all alone. Something was certainly bothering Mr. Wood, and she had a sneaking suspicion she knew what it was.

Badly she wanted to ease his troubled mind, if for no other reason than to put the labor of love back into his Quidditch playing. But Friday would come soon enough…

When Oliver descended to pack up for the morning, she took it again as her own cue to exit, her sleeplessness finally catching up with her as she walked through the Gryffindor locker room and up toward the castle. As she passed the Great Hall, already beginning to fill with students, she decided to skip breakfast. First class was a free period again for her this morning, and her second class, Herbology, didn't begin until eleven. She could get in at least a two hour nap before she had to be at the greenhouses.

Yet, lying once more amongst the cradling comfort of her bed, she found her mind on Oliver Wood, the look of quiet desperation that haunted his usually-cheerful features locked immovably into her mind.

She contemplated telling him, but then talked herself out of it, reasoning that it would be unfair for her to tell just one person. She'd promised herself, after all, that _no one_ would know save herself till Friday morning; it was bad enough the Weasley twins already knew, though as far as she could tell, they were both keeping their promise of silence. Resolve strengthened, she vowed not to speak a word until the appointed time came. Oliver would manage to survive till then like everyone else.

That morning she gained only a few brief moments of fitful sleep, and then the rest of the day seemed to drag on for eternities, until finally she found herself back in the dorm that evening, greedily eyeing her waiting bed as she changed into her pajamas. She'd received essays for homework in both Herbology and History of Magic, her third class, and had finished both during her fourth class free period. The evening had been devoted to researching and writing her Potions paper. Not for the first time, Darcy thanked her unique gift with words, which allowed her to spit out a paper of excellent quality in a quarter of the time it took some of her classmates to scratch out a report that was, at best, mediocre.

It was a few minutes after ten, and Keely, Brian, and the rest of her friends were all downstairs in the common room, unwinding, as Darcy climbed beneath her covers. She felt secure in the knowledge that she would drift almost instantly to sleep, what after the last two nights' broken rest, but this turned out to be false, and within minutes she was up pacing the length of the dorm.

Restlessness had returned to her body, tensing her muscles to the point of discomfort, until finally she gave in, and did the only thing she could.

The sky stood cloudier this night as she soared high above the Hogwarts grounds on her Nimbus, still clad in her pajamas. But the Quidditch pitch was bathed in enough light for her to clearly make out the brown crate, in the same position it had been last night, and again she dug out the Quaffle. But instead of playing Chaser, as she'd done before, she took a page from Oliver Wood's book and placed a quick enchantment on the red soccer-sized ball, allowing her to amuse herself with her own rusty Keeping skills. More than once, she was hit by the cavorting ball, a few times hard enough to leave bruises, but by the time she began to feel tired, she'd gotten so she wasn't missing a single shot. Her talent, she admitted, was still quite far off from the brilliance of Oliver, but not bad for a girl who spent the majority of her time chasing around a gold walnut with wings.

For the second night, she returned to her bed smelling of fresh-cut grass and summer breeze, and fell immediately asleep as her head hit the pillow. 

When she woke before sunrise on Wednesday morning, she almost groaned aloud. A horrible pattern of sleepless nights was forming, and her propensity for early rising—something she'd never done until now—was wreaking havoc on her REM cycles.

But she was awake, and only one thing was left to do. So she did it. And he was there. And she watched him. His performance had not changed, still emotionless and automatic, and it hurt her to have to see it, though she seemed unable to tear her eyes from him.

She drug herself through the rest of the day like a zombie, emerging from an hour-long lecture in her Defense Against the Dark Arts class without having taken a single note. Only Brian and Keely seemed to notice that something was amiss; Kotter was too absorbed in his annoyance that she hadn't kissed him in two day's time. To top it off, Oliver Wood had apparently stopped speaking to or looking at her, which served to delight Kotter, but a sense of disappointment lodged immovably into her stomach at this new development. Friday, she decided, could _not_ come soon enough.

That night she didn't even attempt sleep before sneaking straight to the Quidditch pitch, a light jacket wrapped around her shoulders as it had been raining most of the day. But when she soared onto the field, the sky seemed to suddenly dry up, and within minutes, the moon was out in its full splendor, illuminating the field so brilliantly she even dared release the Bludgers and take out her night's aggression as a temporary Beater.

Despite the greatly increased number of bruises and sprains on her body as she returned to bed, she fell instantly asleep, and was not at all surprised when she woke at dawn the next morning. For the fourth day in a row, she watched Oliver play, and then somehow conjured the energy to stay awake through the rest of her day.

Evening presented her with two new essays to write—one for DADA class, and one for Wizarding Psychology and Sociology, one of the specialized courses she was taking that year. The common room seemed particularly noisy and full as she attempted to begin her homework, and Darcy found herself strangely relieved when Percy Weasley invited her up to the quiet of his dorm to help him with a Transfigurations report.

"You look tired," he remarked casually, peeking over the rims of his glasses at her as she proofread his essay.

She laughed. "You're sweet to say it, Perce, but you don't need to lie to me; I know I look like shit." She paused, circled something on his paper, made a quick notation, then went back to studying his tiny, precise script. "Needless to say, I haven't been sleeping too well as of late. I'm restless as soon as I go to bed, then I don't fall asleep till the early hours of the morning, then I'm awake again before sunrise. I _feel_ like death—I like what you did here, by the way, this is a brilliantly written passage—and I'm not surprised that I look it, too."

The fourth-year just shook his head and ran his thumbs gently over the twin dark circles haunting Darcy's gorgeous blue eyes. "You _need_ to sleep," he told her, stating the obvious, but the look of caring concern on his freckled face stopped her from snapping back at him.

"I _know_, I _know_. But it's easier said than done, Percy," she said, then grinned playfully at him. "Might help if you, say, gave me a backrub."

Instantly Percy flushed red. Darcy wasn't sure whether he had a crush on her or not, but he seem to get extremely uncomfortable when it came to close contact between them, sensual or not. "I, um, I-I don't think—"

"Just kidding, Perce, I was just kidding," she giggled, flashing him a lovely smile.

He haughtily resettled his bony shoulders and tried to look disapproving as he said, "Well, at least your insomnia has yet to effect your sense of humor, though I'm not sure that's a positive sign." She laughed again, especially when Percy's mouth seemed unable to keep from twitching into a smile. Finally he relented and allowed himself a brief moment of levity, revealing to her the relaxed, easy-going Percy that only she got to see. "It's good to know you'll always be a pain in the ass, Darcy, even if you are the walking dead."

"Ooh, just for that, now you _have_ to give me a backrub. Get your skinny freckled ass over here," she demanded, "Prefect's order."

He didn't argue this time, nor did he blush, but simply fell into place behind her as he began to methodically knead her shoulders. Relaxing into his ministrations, she went back to reading his essay, and for a moment comfortable silence passed between the two. Then Percy said, "I want you to promise me something."

"Of course, Perce," she answered automatically. She was used to making a great deal of promises to Percy, most of which involved the breaking—or as she thought of it, _bending_—of one rule or another, and most of which she ended up not keeping anyway. But once in a while she actually heeded his advice and it never hurt to listen to what he had to say.

"I want you to promise me that if you're still having trouble sleeping by Monday, you'll go and see Madame Pomfrey and have her take a look at you."

"I promise," she said, not even looking up from the paper.

He stopped massaging her shoulders and spun her in her chair, so she faced him. Looking very stern and parental, he lifted her chin until their eyes met and said, "No, not one of your promises where you say you will and then turn right around and do the opposite. I mean a _real_ promise this time, Darcy. Please." With his fingertips still lingering upon her jaw, she could sense the thoughts currently running through his mind and, for a moment, she could see herself through Percy's eyes. To him, she was a confidante, an equal, trusted advisor and source for intelligent conversation, someone around whom he felt no need to put on airs. Darcy was very important to him, and at heart, he had only her best interests.

Not that she needed to see his thoughts to know this. Behind the glasses, which made him look far older than his fourteen years, his soft brown eyes radiated affection and concern. It was this Darcy could not resist or lie to.

Meeting his gaze evenly, she promised, "I will go see Madame Pomfrey first thing Monday morning if I'm still not sleeping."

A rare smile lit his face, touching all the way up to his eyes. "Thank you. I know you will," he said, then sighed heavily. "Now if only Oliver were as easy to talk to as you."

At the mention of the Keeper, her attention was immediately piqued. "What's wrong with Oliver?" she demanded, then realized her own tone, she added, "I mean, I've noticed he's been a little out of it lately… did he say anything to you?"

"Mmm, a little. _Very_ little," said Percy absently as he continued her backrub. "I think I'm about the only person he's talked to in the past few days, and that's only because we're roommates. Plus, I can be very persuasive."

"You mean annoyingly persistent," she teased.

"Yes, that too," agreed the fourth-year, as a particularly tight, almost painful squeeze wrenched down upon her left shoulder. She chose to ignore this as he went on, "Whatever you want to call it, I _did_ manage to get him talking though, didn't I?"

She sighed indulgently. "_Yes_, Percy, you did. Now why don't you tell me what he said?"

"I can't do that," he said soberly, shaking his head. "What Oliver said, he told me in confidence, and if I told you, I'd be betraying that."

Annoyance began to set in to the blonde, but she managed to keep the majority of it out of her voice as she replied, "Forget you're a Gryffindor student talking to the Gryffindor Prefect for a moment, okay? This is just you, Percy, talking to me, Darcy, the girl who has kept every last one of your secrets without exception. Okay?"

He frowned at her. "Well… I'm still not sure about this…" he sighed, obviously torn. "All right, I _will_ tell you that something is bothering him, and it has to do with the little announcement you'll be making tomorrow morning, but I don't think it's my place to say anything more. If you're still curious, you can go and try to talk to him yourself."

"That should be a productive conversation, seeing as he isn't _speaking_ to me," she groaned.

At this Percy looked surprised. "Really? I'd thought you'd be the _first_ person he would talk to. You two are practically kindred spirits."

She cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him. "And how do you justify _that_?"

"Well, besides the fact you're both fanatical about Quidditch…" he shot her a playful smile. "Which, of course, I mean as a compliment. I don't know, you both just seem about the same temperament, same sarcastic sense of humor. And apparently neither of you can get a decent night's sleep. I really shouldn't tell you this, but as a Gryffindor concerned for the welfare of his House, I suppose it's my duty to—"

With an upraised hand, she interrupted, "Just… tell me already, huh?"

He was looking slightly put-off again as he told her huffily, "Yes. Well then. The other night, I caught him sneaking back into our dorm. I wouldn't have said anything, if it hadn't have been so late—after three, by my watch. When I asked him where he'd been, he said he'd needed to get out for a while, and that's when he told me about what was bothering him…"

"Mmm," was all she could think to say. Her own late-night adventures had suddenly crowded into her mind.

"Are you done with my paper?" Percy asked, pointing the roll of parchment that she was slowly twisting over in her hands.

"Oh… yeah. Here." She gave him back his essay. "I made a few notes and corrections, but otherwise, you've got yourself a flawless paper. As usual." Leaning back in her chair, she smiled upside-down at him as he hovered above. "Honestly, I don't know why you ask me to read over your stuff; you really don't need the help."

Pretending to busy himself reading over her commentary, he replied nonchalantly, "Maybe I enjoy your company." He scowled at something she'd written on his paper. "Though I don't know _why_…"

She grinned. "Well, if you don't need me anymore, Perce, I think I'm going to go toss and turn for a few hours. But hey, you never know. Maybe I'll actually sleep tonight. If nothing else at Hogwarts, I've learned to believe in magic…" He shot her a curiously raised eyebrow, making her laugh. "Goodnight, Percy."

"Sleep well," he said and, like a true gentleman, walked her to the door of his dorm.

Exuberant voices were still drifting up from the common room, amongst them Keely, Brian and Kotter's, as Darcy paced up to her own dorm. She made sure the door fell silently shut behind her, then, without a second thought, she moved straight to her trunk and pulled out her broom and Golden Snitch. She had the feeling this was the last night she would need to do this, and tonight she would do what she did best.

The tiny gold ball clutched tightly in one hand, Darcy swept out into the night.


	10. Finally Friday

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter 10

Author's Note: Sorry for the smallish delay; the holidays kept me busy and I had to scribble down the plot bunny of a Lord of the Rings story that was scurrying around my mind. But this should be a nice longish chapter for you, with the very first hints of the Oliver/Darcy relationship to come. (You _did_ know they would eventually get together, right? Right?) 

And, as this seems to be the chapter of confessions (you'll see what I mean when you read) I've got my own confession to make. Tonight, for the very first time, I read my reviews. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I guess I've always been scared they would all be like, bad reviews telling me horrible my writing was. But I got some guts about me tonight, read my reviews, and I have some very serious thank-yous to give to my super-sweet reviewers:

*Kat Hallowell ~ Thank you so much for the sweet things you said! I actually have thought about being a writer off and on before, but kind of as a second job thing. But I will get to reading your story as soon as I can. I have to work tomorrow (well, today, it's about 4:30 in the morning Ohio time, I stayed up so late to finish the chapter for you guys) but as soon as I get home, I will happily read and review your story.

*pokElilpupE ~ Thanks for the kind words on my imagery; I worry sometimes I overdo it. And Darcy's insomnia was actually inspired by some of my own. I think we all wish we had broomsticks and Quidditch pitches for nights like that, right? ;)

*ChristiChristiTheOneEyedDog ~ Yeah, I was kinda stalling with the team announcements a little bit… bad me, I like suspense far too much. But this is the chapter! Well, not _the_ chapter. But a good chapter, no less. I should be much more productive with chapters in the future as I've finally figured out most of the plot now. Thanks so much for reading!!!

*kazza ~ I'm really glad your enjoying it, and I hope I can keep up the good work for you!

*meg ~ I thought it was about time there was a girl captain, you know? And isn't Sean Biggerstaff _the_ hottest thing on two legs?!? ;)

*Soo Mee ~ He is _soooooo_ gorgeous!!

*StandingTooSoon ~ I tried really hard to pull away from some of the other plots every one else was following, and I'm glad you think I did a good job.

*person ~ Thanks for reading, I'll definitely keep writing new chapters.

*Josie ~ Thank you so much for saying my fic has potential! That means a lot to me; I put a ton of time into my writing and making sure there are no errors and the story flows well. You wouldn't believe how often I rewrite my chapters! Thanks so much for your kind words, and if you ever _do_ have any advice for the story, definitely let me know.

*barbara ~ All the characters are based after people I know, including my own best friends (except Kotter; he was one of my exes). I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

*Puppy ~ I hoped my characters would come out as realistic. Oliver is _definitely_ super-cute!

I think that's all my reviewers for right now, and if I missed anyone, it wasn't intentional. Thanks again for the amazingly awesome comments and making me feel so good. I'll be reading my reviews on a much more often basis! Especially if they're all as sweet as the ones I've got! Whoa, okay, think I'm getting a little exclamation-point happy. I've held you up long enough. Here's chapter ten! (Damn those exclamation points!)

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Dawn found the Quidditch captain sprawled half on, half off her bed, still dressed in yesterday's robes, her Nimbus broomstick tucked affectionately under her arm. She had laid in this position for nearly three hours, not so much as twitching, as a slumber nearly deep as death claimed her lithe form.

The previous night had been her longest yet on the Quidditch field. She had exhausted herself to the point of near-unconsciousness before finally returning to her dorm, and even then it had been a supreme effort of her will to leave the pitch, and the sudden streak of Seeking brilliance that she had somehow found. Words could hardly express her wonderment at her own performance—she was certain that her practice last night would have rivaled even the best professional Quidditch Seekers. A passion never felt before had unwound within her as she'd chased the golden orb back and forth beneath the moonlight, pushing her to dive harder and fly faster than she'd ever done in any game. Not even against Slytherin, not even for the Quidditch Cup, not even playing for visiting Ministry of Magic officials had she ever played so hard. In retrospect, it almost seemed a waste to have played so amazingly to an empty stadium, but she knew she'd been playing for a much more important audience: herself.

When she'd flown back into the castle at four in the morning, nearly falling off her broom with fatigue, she had never felt more complete in all her life.

Now, as the first hints of light stretched pale blue fingers across a blackened sky, Darcy gave a loud, unflattering snort and toppled the rest of the way from her bed. Her Nimbus fell after her and landed with a solid _crack!_ across the back of her skull. For a moment she danced between slumber and wake, her body wishing to sink down back into the former, her mind dragging her persistently to the latter, until finally, she sat up.

"Ow," she mused, and rubbed at the lump forming on her head as she rose to stand on legs still sore from her last night's exertions. Traveling to the mirror above her armoire, she stifled a laugh at the sight that met her.

What makeup she'd been wearing yesterday to cover the telltale signs of her fatigue had since smeared and left strange areas of coloration across her cheeks, including twin dark smudges beneath her eyes that had once been mascara. Her usually flowing and wavy blonde hair stuck out at erratic angles and odd twists, and her clothing was wrinkled beyond belief.

"Hmm," she whispered to her mirror self, removing her wand from her robes, "_this_ will take some work." A few minutes of charming and wand-waving, and soon the Head Girl was back to her refined self—makeup elegantly done, hair sleek and glistening, and she changed quickly into clean robes to complete the look. She nodded at this new image with approval.

Before departing the dorm, she left Keely another note, this one more lengthy than her last.

Keely,

Quidditch announcement will be at 7:20 exactly. Make sure everyone knows. Know you've been worried about me lately, but it'll be better after today. Thanks for caring.

Darcy

With this left on her roommate's nightstand, Darcy made her way down to the pitch, a thousand thoughts crowding for room in her head. She realized as she stepped through the open gates that she was, indeed, nervous, though for no explicable reason. In fact, the conversation she was about to have would put to rest some of her lingering troubles… or so she hoped.

A last, calming breath to ready her, and she stepped onto the field, directly beneath the goal posts Oliver always practiced on. She made no pretenses of attempting to hide this morning, her eyes already to the sky as she marched out. But she needn't have bothered; Oliver was not there.

Heart-rending panic tackled the girl head-on, as she frantically searched the opposite goal posts for any sign of the young Keeper. She had never expected him to be absent, never even _considered_ that he might be gone… All her carefully laid plans were crumbling beneath her, and in her fluster, she nearly missed sight of the lone figure seated in the middle of the field.

Gasping with relief, Darcy took a minute to collect herself, then soundlessly approached the individual, whose back was to her. She didn't need to see his face to know it was Oliver—the spray of shortly-trimmed brown hair, broad, strong shoulders covered this morning in a pale blue and emerald-striped sweater. She paused mere feet away from him, unsure how to advance; a touch or spoken word would surely startle him…

But suddenly, his head snapped around, as if he'd sensed her presence. For a long moment, he stared up at her, surprised, until at last he said, "Good morning."

This was hardly what she'd expected from his mouth, and for no reason at all, it struck as wildly hilarious. She was caught up in gales of laughter before she could stop herself, eliciting concerned glances from the fourth-year as he stood to watch her. She snorted and wheezed until her sides ached, and at last, the paroxysm abated, leaving her to swipe futilely at the laughter tears that had likely undone her morning's careful makeup work. "Ohh…" she moaned, gazing up at Oliver. "I'm sorry. I haven't been sleeping much lately. I think insanity's finally caught up with me."

He regarded her with a cautious smile. "Okay?"

"For the moment," she answered, and sighed. "How about you? How're you fairing this fine morning, Mr. Wood? I haven't spoken to you much lately."

A touch of sadness drifted into his smile, and dampened the glimmer in his soft chocolate eyes. "Same as always, no better, no worse," he told her with a shrug.

Darcy raised a single skeptical brow and rested her hands on lithe hips. "Now that's a blatantly obvious lie if I've ever heard one," she said with mild exasperation. "I should know, I get them all the time from my so-called boyfriend. Would you like to tell me what's been on your mind lately or would you prefer to wallow in your own bad mood?"

His expression did not change. "So I see I'm not the only one who likes to get a little early practice," he replied calmly.

She broke into a grin at this, one of her most dazzling, and stated with amusement, "All right. I see how it's going to be. But that's just fine, because I know how to cheer you up anyway." She let a touch of smugness drift into her voice.

Now Oliver looked amused as well. "Oh, do you?"

"I _do_," she said, acutely aware that she was flirting as she let her body lean in to meet his. "But before I ask you what I came out here to ask you, there's something I need to admit."

"Quidditch field confessionals?" he teased, and at her disapproving glare, he added, "Sorry. Go ahead. Admit away."

A single eyebrow quirked in amusement, she said with practiced nonchalance, "Well, you are correct in the fact that I often get up early for a little morning practice. Which I happened to do on Monday morning… but somebody was already there. Yeah, that would mean you." She smiled a bit at the surprised expression that had claimed his features. "So instead of practicing, I ended up watching you practice. And then again on Tuesday morning. And Wednesday… And Thursday." She paused a moment to let this sink in, and then added, "Anyway, now that I've told you that, just in case you might be angry at me, I'll ask you my question, which should get me back in your good graces."

At this, Oliver gave a slight nod, indicating she continue.

For a moment, she debated pulling a Brian, and dragging out the suspense, but then decided against it and said simply, "I've chosen you to be Gryffindor's new Keeper, and I'm going to announce your name this morning in the common room. If that's okay with you?"

She had approximately one tenth of a second to react before the fourth-year launched himself forward, capturing her in his arms. Producing an endless stream of delighted yells and cheers, he spun Darcy in the air for a full minute before finally releasing the seventh-year to dizzily regain her composure. When the ground at last stopped whirling, she managed to focus her gaze on Oliver and remark with a smile, "I take it that was a yes?"

"Yes! Yes, yes!" he agreed with enthusiasm, laughing and displaying for a her a smile that seemed determined to meet his ears. "I mean, I had thought—when I heard—I had assumed…" He forced himself to pause, collect his thoughts, then in a calmer tone, he related, "When I heard on Monday you'd decided to skip tryouts and were just going to announce the new players, I automatically assumed I never had a shot. I mean, I _wanted_ to think that maybe you would choose me, but it seemed more likely you'd pick sixth or seventh-years, since that's the majority of the team already…"

She replied, "Well, to be honest, that was my intention, till I saw you play on Monday. After that, after seeing how… _incredible_ you are, I knew that I'd be foolish to pick anyone else. You truly are an amazing Keeper, Oliver." She reached out to lightly graze his defined jaw with her fingertips, bringing an instant flush of color to his visage. With a smile, she added, "Hope you're not mad at me for spying on you."

A sheepish grin found his features as he told her abashedly, "Really, I can't be mad at you, because… I've got my own secret to confess."

She inclined her head with interest. "Do tell."

"As much as I like morning practice, I also sometimes practice at night… when I can't sleep…" he said, and Darcy quickly realized where he was going with this. "So I ended up sneaking out Monday night and I kinda sorta ended up watching _you_ play. And then again on Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Thursday. So pretty much every morning you watched me, every night I watched you. Yep."

The Quidditch captain found herself laughing again at the exquisite irony of their situation, and this time the Keeper joined her, until they were both leaning against the other to keep from collapsing to the ground. When Darcy could at last speak, she mused, "I bet you had a riot watching me pretend to be a whole Quidditch team over the course of the week."

"Are you kidding?" asked Oliver incredulously. "You were outstanding! I mean, I'd heard that you'd played as a Chaser before, so that didn't really surprise me, but I actually got kind of jealous watching you play Keeper. I may have to get you to teach me a few of your moves later, by the way. And you weren't half bad as a Beater, either."

"What about last night?" she asked, curious now that she knew someone had indeed witnessed her moment of Seeking glory.

Visage growing solemn, he told her in a tone of awe, "I couldn't take my eyes off you. I mean it, Darcy. I love Quidditch with all my heart and soul, and last night you left me speechless. It was… it was incredible." He stopped short before admitting he'd nearly been brought to tears by her performance.

She also chose not mention that it had been the thought of _him_ that had driven her to such splendor. Instead she said, "I don't know what came over me last night, but I know I can do it again. And between that, the rest of my brilliant team, and having you, the best Keeper in the entire school, to watch my back… I think that Quidditch Cup is ours, Oliver."

Wood stretched a hand out to his captain, as though they'd just made a deal. "We'll make it happen," he promised, and shared a warm smile with Darcy as her slender, soft hand slipped into his own.

As they shook, her fingers brushed the cool metal of his wristwatch, and reminded her of the time. Gazing down at her own timepiece, she remarked, "We'd better get going. I told Keely to tell everyone I'd make my announcement at 7:20, and it's ten after now. People will eat me alive if I dare to be late." Taking advantage of the fact that their hands were still linked, she broke into a run, tugging him along behind her. "C'mon, Ollie, let's _move_!"

Startled, he fell into step with her, and through their intertwined hands, she could sense the thoughts rolling around in his mind. She discovered that he let very few people call him 'Ollie' because, in his opinion, it sounded—_too childish. But I like the way sounds, coming off her lips. Maybe I just like her lips_… Darcy smiled at his voice as it echoed through her mind, though she selected that moment to sever their connection, in case his thoughts were about to drift to places more personal.

Sixty pairs of eyes met the duo as they stepped, panting, through the portrait with a minute to spare; every last Gryffindor was packed into the common room, crowded onto chairs and couches, seated on top of tables, in the stairwell, on the floor, and on top of each other. When they spotted Darcy, an instant clamor broke out as nearly everyone in the room began yelling demands and questions at the Prefect. The only people not speaking, she noticed, were Fred and George, both smiling to themselves with satisfaction, and, unsurprisingly enough, Kotter. The seventh-year male was too busy glaring suspiciously at Wood.

Darcy took the moment to recover her breath, and when the hands of her watch lay precisely on 7:20, she yelled over the racket, "_Does anybody want to know who the new Keeper and reserve players are?_"

A tremendous roar of approval made the paintings on the wall shake and their inhabitants sprint for cover.

As the Quidditch captain's ears began to ring, she held her hands up for silence, and instantly the noise died, with only a few lingering, hissed threats of "_Shh!_" scattered about the room. When she knew she had the attention of every last breathing soul in the room, she announced, "Glad to see you all taking an interest in our House team. I was going to give a quick Gryffindor pep-talk, but after hearing a response like that, I _know_ you guys don't need one."

Laughter, cheers, and light applause met this remark.

"Now I know you're all eager to get to breakfast and your morning classes—" a few scattered boos to this, and Darcy smiled, "—so I'll go ahead and tell you what you all want to hear. The Gryffindor reserve team for this year: Chasers—Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell." Three simultaneous female shrieks came from one corner of the room as the named second-years celebrated their achievement. "Beaters—Fred and George Weasley." The twins gave a believable display of shock, though a bit overdone, in Darcy's opinion, and accepted the congratulations of their Housemates. "Seeker—Lane Garner, and Keeper—Drew Ralleigh." The sixth-year and the fourth-year both gave exclamations of joy and general applause spread through the room as the House cheered their new reserve team.

Giving the selected seven a moment to enjoy their accolades, she waited till the voices had quieted once again before she made her final proclamation. "And now, this year's House team. To give you a quick recap, in case this is your first year or you've been living in a hole in the ground, we are: Chasers Kotter Baines, Loren LaRose, and Toby Resner; Beaters Brian Keeler and Keely Merath; Seeker Darcy Reed—that's me… and, as Keeper, we are proud to have joining us, none other than your own… Oliver Wood."

At this, she stepped aside, and gave the fourth-year, who'd been standing behind at her shoulder, a quick shove forward. Tumultuous approval met him, as everyone reached out to shake his hand and pat their new Keeper on the back. Oliver turned around and shot the Prefect an uncertain glance.

She just smiled benignly at him, then let her gaze stray to a nearby wall clock. At twenty to eight, the majority of the school would be down to breakfast by now, and likely wondering where the Gryffindors were. She glanced back at Oliver, who had begun to look rather uncomfortable with all his many well-wishers, and with an amused grin, she hollered, "_Anybody hungry for some breakfast?!?_"

More cheers, and suddenly a stream of students was flowing through the portrait hole with boisterous enthusiasm. The Quidditch captain had fallen into the current when a strong grasp found her wrist and tugged her back, rolling her into the arms of her newest teammate.

With lips close enough for his warm breath to tickle her ear, he mused, "The day Dumbledore announced you as Head Girl to the school, I wondered why you had a kind of funny, reluctant smile on your face. _Now_ I understand."

Darcy laughed, and beamed a very lovely grin up at him. "At least _someone_ gets it."

He smiled back at her, and together they joined the crowd headed down to the Great Hall. Neither took any notice of the furious male seventh-year still seated on the couch, who was seriously contemplating hexing the new Keeper with a particularly nasty Vomiting Curse. Kotter Baines did not go down to breakfast that morning.

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Hope you all enjoyed that, and thanks one last time for those great reviews! A new chapter should be up VERY soon; your kind comments have given me huge inspiration to write!


	11. Food For Thought

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Eleven

Author's Note: This chapter, in all fairness, has very little to do with the advancement of the plot, but it was fun for me to write (and hopefully will be fun for you to read) and should tide you over until I can finish a very eventful Chapter Twelve. I want to thank again all my beautiful reviewers, and a quick response to two things in particular:

*Josie ~ This story is being slowly peeled, chapter by chapter, from the depths of my mind. It's being written as I go along, so everything you read is what I've just finished writing. I do, though, have the basic plot and events I want to happen planned out in my mind, so my writing's not _totally_ random.

*WannabeHobbit ~ You're right, the first Harry Potter book indicates that not only was Wood Quidditch captain his fourth year, but Fred and George were both on the House team, not just reserve players. But for the sake of my story, I twisted things about. Hopefully you and all my other wonderful readers will kindly overlook this and continue to enjoy my story…

Last but certainly not least, I want to encourage everyone reading this to check out a wonderful gem of a story called '_This Game of Love We Play_' by Kat Hallowell. It really is an exciting and intelligently written story that is not getting the attention it deserves. If you're ever in search of a good read, I highly recommend this fic.

Hmm, I've been rather chatty in my last few chapters… Alas, I'll not hold you up any longer. Chapter Eleven, anyone?

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"It's been a good day," remarked Keely, nodding with satisfaction as she and Darcy walked out of the Great Hall after lunch.

The blonde laughed. "You say that _every_ day they serve stuffing." She led the way as the two girls descended into the dungeon for their third and last class of the day, Potions. "I think the horsemen of the Apocalypse could ride up to the front door of Hogwarts and knock, and you'd still say it was a good day, so long as they served stuffing."

With a shrug, Keely agreed, "You're probably right."

Darcy laughed again, and held the door open for her friend as they passed into the Potions classroom. Icy cool, dark, and foul-smelling as ever, the room was only half full of students as they entered, allowing them to snag a fairly secluded table in the back. As the Seeker began to unpack her cauldron and various ingredients, she heard Keely muse, "I wonder where Kotter is? I haven't seen him since the meeting this morning…"

A sickening, unpleasant feeling suddenly settled into Darcy's stomach, as she tried to remember the last time she'd seen her boyfriend. "He wasn't at breakfast?"

The Scottish girl gave her friend a skeptical sideways glance. "Um, _no_. That was _Oliver_ sitting beside you," she reminded, then feigned a sigh of disgust. "I know you have a whole legion of sexy guys at your beck and call, but try and remember which one you're currently dating, okay? It makes us poor, single idiots feel bad."

Sapphire eyes rolled skyward as Darcy replied, "Oh, bite it, Beater Girl. Besides, it's not _my_ job to keep track of the comings and goings of Kotter. He's a big boy."

"Who has apparently chosen to skip class today," Keely said as the bell rang, and still no sign of the Gryffindor Chaser.

At this, the blonde's gut gave another unsettling lurch. No matter his other faults, Kotter made a habit of always attending class, even when he was sick. She couldn't help but remember the spiteful look on his face when she'd last spied him in the common room, and how his most evil of glares had been turned upon Oliver. Darcy found it suddenly very important to know just where her boyfriend was.

She'd begun to contemplate slipping quickly out and skipping class herself when a slimy voice right beside her ear uttered, "Going somewhere, Miss Reed?"

Darcy started and nearly toppled off her stool as she spun to face none other than Professor Snape, who had somehow snuck upon the two girls without their notice. Daring a quick glance at Keely, the blonde found her friend as startled as she as the potions master loomed over them in all his greasy, black-cloaked glory.

"Where would I have to go, sir?" replied Darcy when she finally found her voice.

"You tell me," was the professor's response, and for another disturbingly long moment, he held her gaze, as though daring her to answer. When it became apparent her lips were sealed, he finally added, "I see Mr. Baines has chosen not to grace us with his presence this afternoon. Perhaps I best have a word with Professor McGonagall about the attendance of her students… though that, of course, is a matter that the Gryffindor _Prefect_ should be handling."

Darcy contemplated a response, then thought better of it, and maintained her silence until a sickly smile finally slithered its way across Snape's face.

"Well then. Despite your comrade's absence, I believe you both still owe me a four-foot essay on Aging Potions?" he said, gazing expectantly between the two Gryffindor girls.

Immediately the blonde produced her essay, an elegantly written piece of work that spanned a full five feet in length. She had full confidence in the essay's near-perfection, though hardly expected a perfect grade, as Snape always seemed to find something wrong with even her best written reports. Her concerns instead laid with Keely, a self-professed failure when it came to essays. But the Scot looked exceptionally pleased with herself as she produced a roll of parchment from her bag.

Snape took the two essays and, eyeing Keely maliciously, he unrolled the brunette's report. He studied her parchment for a moment, then shook his head, as though disappointed. "A bit short, Miss Merath," he chided. "By at _least_ a foot."

"_What_?" A shadow of panic touched the girl's face as she snatched her paper from his hands, but it soon faded into a relieved smile. "Ohh. No wonder. This is my Charms essay." She retrieved a second, much longer paper and handed it to the professor. "Here's the right one."

Studying the new essay, Snape scowled. "Five points from Gryffindor for your lack of organization, Miss Merath," he snapped, "and five more for the class time I have been forced to waste on your foolishness. I had better see a superb effort from both of you today, unless you desire to lose additional points." That said, he stalked away to the front of the room.

Jaw clenched tightly in an effort to remain silent, Darcy glanced over at Keely.

The Scot's liquid brown eyes glittered with anger and hurt. "Don't know what I ever bloody did to _him_," she murmured, then smiled apologetically at the Prefect. "Sorry I lost us points."

Unconcernedly, she waved away her friend's concerns. "Don't even worry about it. Ten points is nothing. We'll make it up and then some when we beat the jesus out of Slytherin in Quidditch," she said, and offered the brunette a winning grin. "Just make sure you bust some heads with that Beater's club of yours, huh?"

"You don't have to ask me twice," laughed Keely, then quickly busied herself with writing in her notebook as Snape sent a glare their way. In a low voice, she said, "We best get to work."

Darcy nodded in agreement, and the two poured their full focus into the preparation and concoction of the day's potion. Through the entire class period, Snape circled them like a hawk, finding something to criticize about every aspect of their work, from the size of the flame beneath their cauldron to the way Keely sliced her bat wings. By the time the dismissal bell finally rang, both Gryffindor girls were in exceedingly low spirits, and were the first two to push their way hurriedly out of the dungeons.

"Well, it _had_ been a good day," the Scot muttered, shoulders hunched.

Taking in her friend's downtrodden expression, the Quidditch captain wracked her mind for something cheerful to say—when a mischievous grin stole suddenly over her features. "You know what I think we need to do?"

"What's that?" Keely replied, still disheartened.

Conspiratorially, Darcy lowered her voice, and leaning very close to the brunette, she whispered, "I think Sniffy and Sneaky need to make a trip to the kitchens tonight."

Keely's face instantly lit up as she shared her friend's grin. "That, my dearest DC, sounds like a fabulous idea…"

***

Midnight found the Hogwarts castle blanketed in moonlit silence, with a light autumn breeze to stir the torches still burning in the deserted Entrance Hall. Only soft shadows roamed the marble floors of the hall… until a smallish black nose poked around the corner of a staircase. Two wide, startlingly blue eyes gleamed out of the darkness to examine the surroundings for a long moment, before their owner finally emerged into the flickering firelight.

Trotting along low to the ground on short, webbed feet came an otter with thick, glistening fur the color of gold. In the midst of the hall, the creature stopped, turned its long body around to gaze back into the empty darkness, and seemed to wait there for something. Suddenly the otter emitted a low, protesting bark, and from empty air came a whispered voice, "Oops. Sorry, DC. I can barely see you!"

The otter rolled its eyes in a disturbingly human fashion.

Then the voice from nowhere muttered with irritation, "Oh, the hell with it. Nobody's here, anyway!" and in a flourish of cloth, a pajama-clad Keely Merath appeared in the Entrance Hall and began to fold up the Invisibility Cloak that had, until that point, been concealing her body. She glanced down at the otter. "C'mon, you too. If I'm going to get caught, so are you."

With a snort of disapproval, the gold-furred beast glared up at the human, and in the time it took Keely to blink, the otter had morphed in the shapely form of Darcy Reed. The blonde wore a tank top and boxer shorts beneath a flowing white silk kimono.

"You stepped on my tail," Darcy protested bitterly, itching at her nose where she'd previously had whiskers.

"That's your fault," the Beater replied, resisting the urge to gawk at her now-human friend. In the seemingly hundreds of times she'd watched Darcy shift in and out of her animagus form, the process still fascinated Keely. She distracted herself by telling the blonde, "You'd better stay human now, by the way, so you can help me carry the food back up to the dorm."

Darcy suspiciously eyed the folded cloak. "That thing big enough for two?"

"_Four_," the Scottish girl scoffed, and nodded her head toward a staircase that led down away from the Entrance Hall. "C'mon, we'd better get going. The longer we stand here, the greater chance we have of being—"

"_Shh_!" Darcy hissed suddenly, attention drawn to a nearby tapestry.

Instantly Keely unrolled the Invisibility Cloak and began to cover them both when the Quidditch captain halted her with an upraised hand. "What are you—" The Scot fell silent as she received a threatening glare from her friend. Instead, she cocked her head toward the tapestry, trying to detect what had piqued Darcy's interest, when a low murmur finally reached her ears and the tapestry gave a slight but noticeable quiver.

"On three," directed Darcy, who'd crept forward and was reaching for the tapestry. As Keely joined her, she counted in a low whisper, "One, two, _three_…!"

The Gryffindor girls gave the tapestry a fierce tug—and revealed twin freckled faces, huddled back together in a small hidden alcove. For a moment, both parties stared at each other, until Keely and Darcy growled simultaneously, "_Weasleys_!"

Stepping out into the soft glow of the Entrance Hall, Fred and George produced identical disarming smiles for the seventh-year females, as the former said, "Good evening, most lovely and kind Ladies Merath and Reed! Out for a stroll?"

Trading glances with Keely, the Gryffindor Prefect studied her two younger Housemates with suspicion. "And do I dare ask what heinous prank brings you out of bed at this time of night?" she mused, setting hands on lithe hips in a look of mock sternness. "You know, technically, I could bust you both for breaking curfew."

"We could bust you, too!" protested George, though he did not look at all pleased with possibility of being revealed.

"Ah, but as a Prefect, I'm _allowed_ to be out of the dorm after curfew, and since Keely's with me, so is she," said Darcy, which was of course a perfect lie, but the twins didn't know this. Duplicate sets of soft green eyes were sending her disappointed and apprehensive looks. "Why don't you just tell me what you guys were doing and maybe I won't turn you in." She reached out to touch either brother on the arm, something only Keely seemed to take notice of with mild interest.

George sighed. "We were planting timed dungbombs in the Slytherin common room," he admitted, looking beaten.

"Told you we had something good in store for Marcus Flint," added Fred with a grin.

Keely glanced at Darcy, who appeared to be intensely focused on something far in the distance. Lightly the Scot touched the blonde, and suddenly Darcy's eyes flickered back into focus. The thoughts of the twins, which had been scrolling through her mind, faded away until she was alone in her head once more. To the brunette, she announced, "I'm pretty sure they're telling the truth."

Glancing suspiciously from blonde, to redheads, back to blonde, Keely demanded, "How can you ever be sure with _these_ two?"

"I resent that!" protested Fred.

Darcy only flashed a mysterious smile at her female friend. "Oh, I trust the twins. Actually, they've never lied to me before," she replied honestly, grinning at Fred and George who had now sidled up on either side of her, arms folded as they glared at Keely.

The brunette raised a curious eyebrow. "So what are going to do with them?"

"What do you mean, _do_ with us?" George demanded, offended.

"Where were you two headed off to anyway?" added Fred playfully as he jabbed a tickling finger into Darcy's ribcage.

Batting away his hand, the seventh-year glanced over at her best female friend and stated, "I don't know, Keely, what do you think? We _could_ take them with us. I imagine they'll find the way themselves eventually, anyway, and it'll give us two extra sets of hands to carry things with." She glanced at the Invisibility Cloak. "You said that thing fits four."

Though still wary, Keely finally relented. "All right. Let's go then," she said, and started down the marble staircase that led eventually to the Hufflepuff common room. At the bottom of the steps, they were presented with two doorways, one leading into a corridor that twisted off in another direction and one that revealed yet another staircase, this one of stone. Keely took the latter, with Fred, Darcy, and George following after her, the twins goggling at their new surroundings.

They finally stepped out into a wide corridor, and from the flickering gold torchlight that illuminated the area, numerous paintings could be seen lining the walls, most displaying food or feasts of some sort.

"Where _are_ we?" queried George, who'd taken Darcy's left arm as though to escort her. Fred was covering the right and nodded his fervent agreement to the question.

"Somewhere below and adjacent to the Great Hall, I'd guess," came Keely's voice, echoing up the hall. She'd stopped before a large painting of fruit and was contemplating it with frustration. As Darcy and the twins joined her, she muttered, "DC, is it the orange or the pear? I can never remember…"

Slipping her hand free of Fred, the Quidditch captain reached out and wordlessly ran her fingertips over the portrayed green pear which, to the amazement of the boys, began to giggle before turning into a doorknob. As she reached for the handle and swung the portrait open, she remarked, "Think green, for go." With that, she stepped into the room beyond.

Keely rolled her eyes. "You're a prat," she told Darcy, and followed her in.

Not to be left out, Fred and George were on the girls' heels, though they quickly froze with awe once they saw what waited them. Beyond, the room stretched out farther and wider than the Great Hall, and all around, hundreds of house-elves were fussing over burners, ovens, pots, pans, cutting boards, and various other tasks of food preparation. The whole place seemed to stop as soon as they spotted the visitors.

"Miss Darcy! Miss Keely!" came a barrage of excited cries, and suddenly the quartet was surrounded by house-elves.

"What in the name of Merlin…?" George gaped, unconsciously tugging at Darcy's sleeve.

Fending off two floppy-eared little elves who'd attached themselves to her bare legs, she managed to relate, "Pretty wicked, huh? We found it our second year. This insatiable Scottish beast here—" she indicated Keely with a nod, "—got so hungry one night she dragged me out of bed and made me come looking for the kitchen with her. _Voila_. This is what we found."

"Miss Darcy and Miss Keely has not visited us in _so_ long!" interrupted a squeaky voice, as one particular female house-elf emerged from among the rest. "We thoughts yous had left us!"

"No, we're still here," said Keely with a weary sigh. "Hey, you guys don't have any of that stuffing left over from lunch, do you? And some pumpkin cheesecake would be _great_…" At her words, a cadre of elves scurried off, and returned seconds later baring tray after tray of fresh, warm food. A second group arrived with steaming mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows and cinnamon and passed them to the four students.

"How has you been, Miss Darcy?" asked the same female house-elf, pulling gently on the blonde's fingertips and leading her farther into the kitchen. Fred and George stuck closely to the girl, though the plates of food the elves continued to offer Keely had greatly caught their attentions.

Tolerating the tiny creature, Darcy mused, "Not half bad, Eenie. I kept busy most of the summer, but now I'm glad to be back."

"We is _very_ glad to have you back!" agreed the house-elf labeled Eenie, nodding her head so vigorously her big floppy ears flapped like wings. "And you has brought friends! Friends with bright, bright hair! Who does we has the pleasure to serve?"

Nodding at the two respectively, Darcy introduced Fred and George to Eenie the house-elf. "They're only second-years, so you'll probably end up seeing them a lot in the future."

Eenie was nearly dancing in her delight. "We is so happy to has you, Gred and Forge!"

As Fred opened his mouth to correct the elf, the Prefect quickly whispered, "Just let it go, huh? She'll get really upset if she thinks she's offended you, and you won't be able to come down here for _weeks_ without her sobbing all over your robes." To Eenie, she said, "Do you think you could get me some strawberries and cream? And one of those chocolate eclairs, if you've got any." She seemed to notice Fred and George again. "Oh, and whatever these two want."

"Right away!" Eenie squealed, and the kitchen flew into action once more. The four visitors were directed to the immense fireplace at the back of the kitchen, where a table and chairs had been drug in for their convenience. As the house-elves catered to their every wish, Darcy, Keely, Fred, and George sat down and enjoyed a nice midnight snack.

It was sometime after two when Darcy glanced at her watch and announced, "We'd better get back to bed, Keely. We've got Quidditch practice tomorrow at ten."

A chorus of disappointed groans met them as they rose to their feet and prepared to leave. "You is going so soon?" Eenie queried, looking devastated.

"We've got to get up early tomorrow," said Darcy, by way of apology, "otherwise, we'd stay much longer. But we promise to come back sometime soon, and we'll definitely be coming to visit you after we win our first Quidditch match." They started for the door, with a vast trail of house-elves following behind.

When they reached the portrait, Eenie flung herself once more at the blonde, wrapping her skinny arms around the girl's thigh and squeezing until Darcy was certain she'd lost all circulation to her foot. At last the elf let go. "We will misses you!" she said tearfully.

Darcy produced a warm smile, though the others could tell she was withholding laughter. "Good-bye, Eenie. We'll see you soon."

Stepping out one by one into the corridor once more, the four Gryffindors proceeded to all squeeze under Keely's Invisibility Cloak, and together, they slipped back up to their common room completely unnoticed.

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By the way, in case anyone was confused by Darcy's reference to "Sniffy and Sneaky" as she and Keely left Potions, those are the nicknames that they refer to themselves as when the venture out together after curfew. I don't know if I did a good enough job of making that clear. Darcy is Sniffy, named in honor of her childhood stuffed otter Sniffy (anyone remember that from Chapter One?), and with her Invisibility Cloak, Keely is obviously Sneaky. I debated whether or not to make Darcy an animagus in addition to her Ghost Touch powers, but there were just too many fun plot opportunities for me to _not_ want to make her one. Hopefully this won't sour you to the story either by thinking I'm blessing Darcy with too much. Merlin knows she's already got enough on her plate already!

My warmest regards and thanks in advance to all my lovely reviewers ~ Adele


	12. Quidditch Practice

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Fixing to Fly

Chapter Twelve

Author's Note: Greetings, all! A quickie note on Twelve before I let you get to it. This chapter was supposed to be one longer one, but it worked out that I could split it evenly into two parts. Instead of making all you, my wonderful readers and reviewers, wait until I finished the whole chapter, I decided to let you have this little beauty right now! Lots of good Oliver/Darcy action and fun foreshadowing! Hopefully when you get done reading this, you'll be begging for Chapter Thirteen! (Which should be up in another day, my schedule willing.) I've also decided to change the rating of this story to PG-13, as there's nothing more offensive in this story (as of yet) any worse than a little harsh language. There may eventually be an R-rated chapter when Darcy and Oliver get to know each other a little better… ahem. Anyway. A few more responses to various reviewers:

*Carolyn ~ As of January 3rd, I was 17½ years old. Pretty young, huh? But Merlin knows I have days when I feel _much_ older… I call them Mondays… ;)

*Kat ~ Yeah, Darcy's based a lot off me—same physical attributes (hair, eyes, curves, etc) and her sense of humor is _totally_ mine. I am _the_ original graduate of the Sarcastic Girls' School of Smartassery with a degree in Witty Banter, so you and I would likely hit it off like old pals. ;)

*Christi, Jessika, and all the rest who've been waiting for Kotter to get a swift kick in the ass ~ It's coming up! Not this chapter, but the next—I know, that's not fair, I'm keeping you in suspense, but… Oh well, author's prerogative, huh? Hee hee, I'm evil…

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Ready for some Twelve? Voila! Enjoy…

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Darcy finally caught up with Kotter at breakfast on Saturday morning. As the blonde-haired male Gryffindor appeared in the Great Hall and took his customary seat at her side, she felt a large swell of relief wash through her, and for the first time in recent memory, she was actually pleased to see him. "Where've you been hiding?" she queried cautiously, her gaze locked on his features for any subtle hint to his mood. "I haven't seen you since yesterday morning."

For a long moment he stared back at her, till a genuinely cheerful smile lit his face. "To be perfectly honest with you, baby, I was in a bit of a bad mood after the meeting. I decided I'd better stay in for the day so I didn't explode on anybody. But I'm better now."

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't prevent the look of perplexity and horror that swept over her features. She did, however, manage not to blurt out, '_Who are you and what have you done with my controlling, ill-natured boyfriend?_' Instead, she banished the majority of her unbecoming, slack-jawed shock and managed in a semi-normal voice to relate, "Um… okay. Glad to hear it." After a moment of awkward silence, she added, "If you need notes from Potions, I can loan them to you."

His visage seemed to brighten at this. "Darcy, you're so sweet. I don't tell you that enough, but you are. Oh, I've got something for you," he said and, whipping out his wand, he turned away from her, so she couldn't see what he was doing. Over his shoulder he warned, "No peeking!" and gave his wand precise flick.

Just as the Quidditch captain opened her mouth to comment, she found a bouquet of a dozen gold—yes, _gold_—roses in her arms.

"I haven't given you any flowers in a while, and I know these are your favorite…" He was watching her anxiously, waiting for her response. "Do you like them?"

"Ah… they're beautiful," she replied honestly as the delicate floral scent of the gift tickled at and delighted her olfactories. "Thank you." She found an empty spot beside her on the table for the roses and sat staring at them as Kotter began to eat. A state of shock had settled over her, not to mention intense suspicion; something was very wrong about this unexpected gift, though she couldn't put her finger on it. What in the name of Merlin was he plotting?

A pleasant voice pulled her out of her musings. "Morning, Darcy."

She gazed up to find Oliver dropping into the spot on her left, where Keely usually sat. The Scottish girl had scooted over to make room for the fourth-year at his request. Turning her attentions to her newly-arrived Keeper, Darcy greeted him with a playful smile. "Hey, Oliver. You're looking alert and enthusiastic for our first practice this morning." She noticed Keely shooting them curious looks and added, "Maybe you can rub a little of that off on Miss Smiles-and-Sunshine over there."

"I hate you," growled the Beater in return. Keely was most certainly _not_ a morning person, and not truly awake till she'd had her breakfast and orange juice. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. Did I mention I hate you?"

Unimpressed, Darcy contemplated her friend with a single raised eyebrow. "Once or twice."

At this Oliver laughed, and went about selecting his breakfast—until Kotter's gift caught his attention. He glanced between the roses and the blonde, then asked in a strangely flat tone, "Those yours, Darcy?"

"Hmm?" She was in the process of masticating a bite of pancake, which became suddenly difficult to swallow when she realized where Oliver's gaze laid. Her own voice took on an oddly unemotional timbre as she answered, "Oh. Those. Um, Kotter gave them to me, just a few minutes ago. As a gift."

"Oh…" he replied, and the tiniest shadow of disappointment crept into his features, dimming his earlier cheer. "They're very beautiful."

The sudden, insane urge popped into her mind to throw the flowers on the ground and stomp on them, at which point she would tell Oliver that no, they were _not_ beautiful, they were the most despicable things she'd ever seen and likely just another bribe from the master of duplicity, her so-called boyfriend. But the only thing that passed from her lips was a weak laugh and the half-hearted comment, "Yeah, they're, ah… they're—"

"Darcy! Oh my Merlin!" Kotter's voice interrupted her, and she found herself being spun to face the male seventh-year. "These are _the_ most wicked hash browns I've ever had! You have _got_ to try some!" He thrust a fork toward her mouth.

Quickly dodging his hand, she said, "That's okay, you go ahead and enjoy them, I'll just get some of my own. Here, pass me the—"

Before she could close her jaw, she found the bite of food jammed onto her tongue, and Kotter staring expectantly at her as she began to chew. Rolling the substance around in her mouth, she noted that these hash browns were the same they'd served for the past seven years at Hogwarts, no better or worse.

"So, what do you think?" demanded the Chaser, smiling.

"They're um… pretty good?" she replied, with hopes of placating her boyfriend so he'd stop trying to feed her. Luckily, this answer seemed to please him, and as he turned to dish up more, no doubt for _her_ consumption, she took the opportunity to bolt upright from her seat. "I, ah, think I'm plenty full for the moment," she announced, and prayed no one could hear the protesting growls of her mostly-empty stomach. "I'm going to head down to the locker room, get an early start. See you all there at ten sharp!"

"Yeah, yeah, Quidditch Nazi," Keely muttered into her biscuits and gravy as the blonde began a hasty retreat out of the Great Hall.

She'd gotten only a few steps when Kotter called out, "Darcy, your roses!"

With an effort, she returned, with a wooden smile painted painfully across her face. She accepted the bundle as he placed them once more into her arms. "Thanks," she managed, and left the room at a pace that could be described only as a controlled run as she fled for the comfort of the Gryffindor locker room.

***

Of all the hundreds of places to be at Hogwarts, Darcy's all-time favorite was unquestionably the locker room. Five years of cherished memories existed inside the room that lay beneath the Quidditch stands, and every time she stepped through the doors, a sense of welcoming swept over her, as though she was being greeted by an old friend.

The long rectangular room was done entirely in a deep cherry wood, from the polished floors to the low vaulted ceilings, with varying banners of gold and red hanging on the walls to bring in a touch of color. Spanning the walls to the left and right of the doorway were fourteen equally sized dressing rooms, seven on each side, their doors also cloaked with the alternating Gryffindor colors. Occupying the middle of the room were several rows of benches where the team sat to lace up their protective gear or listen to Darcy pitch to them new plays from the raised platform that dominated the front of the room. On the platform—or, as Keely preferred to call it, Quidditch Queen Darcy's royal throne—stood a dry-erase board and a miniature model of the Quidditch pitch, complete with tiny lifelike models of each member of the House and reserve teams. A door beyond the platform led to the white-tiled shower room.

The Seeker entered the locker room and took a moment to gaze around appreciatively; the colored banners and deep, earthy aroma always reminded her of walking through the forest in autumn. She moved up to her platform and examined the mini-field, where only six little replicas sat at the moment, hers and the rest of the seventh-year team members, but with a quick wave of her wand, eight brand new characters were created to mirror the new reserve team and Oliver. She placed the Oliver miniature next to her own without even thinking about it. She then moved toward her private dressing room to change.

Inside, the wooden flooring changed to a soft red-and-gold carpet—her own addition, of course—and one corner of the room was lined with mirrors. Another corner was dominated by a large wardrobe, where her uniforms hung and her broom was normally stored, along with several other small personal effects such as her toiletries. Opposite this was a thickly padded red velvet chair where she sat to pump herself up before each game, and then cool down afterwards.

In a moment's time, she'd changed out of her school robes and reemerged in Quidditch gear, her leather arm and leg guards freshly oiled. When the first members of the team appeared at a few minutes before ten, they found their captain reclined across the front row of benches, a large red play book spread across her lap.

"Anything special on the agenda today, DC?" asked Brian once he was in uniform. He stopped to peer over her shoulder. "This your new stuff?"

"Mmm-hmm. But I'm not going to try and teach it to you today," she said, and let the heavy book fall shut. "I mostly just want us to get back in the habit… for those of who didn't get the chance to _practice_ during the summer." Kotter had appeared in the locker room as she bitterly made this last comment. To Brian, she added, "I also want to see how well Oliver's going to mesh with the rest of the team."

Lowering his voice, the Beater queried, "You think Kotter's going to be any trouble?"

She sighed unhappily. "If he is, I'm going to kick his sorry ass off my Quidditch field. I've told him, as I've told all of you, I don't care _what_ you think of your teammates otherwise, but when you step into the pitch, you better be treating them all like your brothers and sisters. Every last one of you is too good to be disrespecting each other."

"You know that's never mattered to Kotter…" His tone was apologetic.

"Well, it's gonna start mattering. He has no breathing room right now with me when it comes to his behavior, and I refuse to tolerate his mood swings."

To lighten his friend's sullen mood, Brian put on a playful smile and said, "Well, he seemed in a pretty chipper mood this morning; maybe you'll get lucky and he'll stay that way for a while. What was with the flowers, by the way?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. But I don't mind telling you I'm a bit wary. He's pulled stunts like that before, usually when he intends to—" She never finished her thought, as Kotter chose that moment to emerge from his dressing room. As he joined she and Brian, she said, "You guys can go on out to the field and start warming up; I've just got a few things to finish here."

"Okay, babe," Kotter replied, and then left her with a grin and a comment that made the girl _very_ nervous: "I think we'll have an… interesting practice today."

An unsettling niggle found residence deep within her gut as she watched the Chaser stroll out to the field, but her mind was quickly forced to other things as Keely, Loren, and Toby entered the locker room and began to gear up. She put her attention back to finishing her play as she waited for Oliver to arrive; she wanted to have a word with him before they hit the field.

Five minutes later, the last member of the Gryffindor team came puffing into the locker room, an embarrassed smile on his face as he gasped an explanation to the captain. "Sorry I'm so late. I went up to my dorm after breakfast to get my broom, but I couldn't find it anywhere!"

It was Darcy's turn to flash an abashed grin. "Oops, my bad. I forgot to tell you: all the team members' broomsticks are transferred down here to the locker room on the first day of practice."

"Yeah, Percy finally came upstairs and told me that after I'd torn apart my half of the room. He isn't too happy with me right now," he told her with a laugh.

The Seeker snorted. "I'd imagine. Just tell him it was my fault."

"Oh, he already thinks it's partially your fault. So I guess we're _both_ in the doghouse."

Seeing that her Keeper was back to his usual buoyant self despite their earlier awkward moment, she easily produced a dazzling smile. "We'll buy him dinner next time we all go to Hogsmeade," she suggested as she stood and tucked her play book beneath an arm. "Anyway. I wanted to give you a quick heads-up before we start practice today. First thing: this is _your_ private dressing room." She led him to an empty room, the one conveniently next to her own. "For as long as you're on the Gryffindor team, this will be your room. You can put whatever you want in there: broomstick, uniforms, change of clothes, play books, etceteras. Bottom line—it's _your_ room."

"Cool," said Oliver, stepping into the room and investigating its furnishings. As he opened the wardrobe doors to reveal a crisp and clean Quidditch uniform hanging within, he began, "Hey, I thought you said—"

"That's _yours_," she interrupted, pulling out the robes, "if you'd ever let me finish talking. There'll be two more up in your dorm, when you check. Made at Madame Malkin's, so they should fit you perfectly, as that woman _never_ forgets a robe size for _anyone_. If they _don't_ fit, well… you can take it up with her yourself."

He laughed. "I'm sure they'll be fine. Anything else I should know?"

"Mmm… nope. Other than watch yourself today while you're on the field. We're not doing anything fancy, just basic plays and warm-up exercises, but this'll be the first time you get to play with us all, so it'll take you a bit to get used to all our styles."

"What about you? What'll you be doing the whole time?"

She raised a curious eyebrow at this. Was he keeping tabs on her… or was he worried about Kotter's behavior, too? "For today, for the first half of practice at least, I'll be flying amongst you guys and just kind of watching, see how you all do. If it's looking good, not a lot of problems, then I'll bring out the Snitch and leave you guys to your own devices for a while."

"Can I ask you a favor then?" His expression was suddenly sober and intense, the face of a businessman, one who took his Quidditch very seriously. "I want you to keep an especially close eye on me, and everything I do that you think I could improve, any weaknesses you see, I want you to tell me, so I can continue to work on perfecting my game."

Barely preventing herself from gawking at the boy in surprise, she answered, "Of course, I'll do what I can." The wonder that was Oliver Wood never seemed to cease. She had never had _any_ player ask her to openly criticize them in order to better their performance. And what was more, she was now allowed to stare freely at the attractive brown-eyed Scot…

__

Shut up! she hissed at the voice in her mind that dared to think such a thought. _You're in enough trouble already with Kotter because of Oliver Pretty-Eyes Wood._

A short argument between her various personalities ensued, and when she finally drifted back to the locker rooms, the fourth-year was staring at her with an amused smirk spanning his features. Darcy felt the tips of her ears go pink. "Um, ahem. Yeah. Um, why don't you go ahead and change then, Oliver, and join us all out on the field when you're ready."

"Aye-aye, Captain," he teased, and disappeared into his dressing room.

The blonde gave her brain-voices one last warning to clam up, then made her own way out onto the field, trying to ignore the very persistent feeling that she was walking into trouble.

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Departing Note: Guess who bought the Signs DVD on Tuesday? Oh yeah, you bet I did. So you should be able to expect some sweet new chapters to my Signs story, _Again_—as well as tons of excellent new chapters for _Fixing to Fly_, of course. Chapter Thirteen should be up by tomorrow night, Saturday night at the latest, so shoot me a review and tell me what you think might happen, we'll see if you're right!

My deepest thanks, as always ~ Adele


	13. Strike One

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Fixing to Fly

Chapter Thirteen

Author's Note: Okay, so maybe I missed my Saturday night deadline, as it _is_ technically Sunday, being one o'clock in the morning here in Ohio. But here it is, Chapter Thirteen! A little short, but oh-so-crucial, and it should give the Kotter-haters a little something to feed off of. There's still much more fun to come, and I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can. I've got exams next week, but I never study anyway, so that shouldn't really affect chapter production.

*A quick note to Jessika ~ Oh do I have some lovely plans for the whole 'Bludger to the head two minutes in' thing. In fact, it's the catalyst for a major turning point in the story! But alas, I'll say no more… *evil grin*

It's not the size that counts, it's how you use it, right? And that said, here's Thirteen.

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Waiting for their Keeper, the seventh-year Quidditch players fell into their old warm-up routine of flying laps around the pitch, the Chasers tossing the Quaffle lightly amongst themselves while the Beaters watched for wayward Bludgers. Darcy fell in half a lap behind the group, and for a moment was content to fly on her own, as her troubled mind felt electric with a thousand conflicting thoughts.

Just what had gotten into her? Acting so peculiar around Oliver… She had a boyfriend—a very good looking and intelligent boyfriend at that, though he _was_ a complete ass ninety percent of the time. And to Darcy, who would ride the Hogwarts Express home in the spring for the last time this year, Oliver was but a child, with a long future of schooling ahead of him. The most unwise thing for her to do at the moment, she decided, was go fooling around with a fourth-year and end her existence in the familiar, comfortable world she'd worked so hard to create.

__

He would never love you back anyway, she muttered coldly to herself when her heart refused to listen to the logic her mind offered. She was surprised at how much that voice had sounded like Kotter…

Suddenly she started as a warm hand gently cupped her chin, and drew her gaze to the aforementioned fourth-year who had put her into such a state of perplexity. A thick rush of blood seemed to cloud through her brain as she eyed the young Gryffindor—no person in existence had ever looked so perfect, so… _natural _in Quidditch robes as Oliver Wood. The reds and golds did wonders against his tanned complexion, and the uniform alone had brought out a dazzling, unique smile on his features. Or maybe that smile was for something—someone?—else…

"So how do I look?" he asked, considering the female Seeker with his deep chocolate eyes. "Do I do the Gryffindor team justice?"

"I think we're going to have trouble keeping the interest of the crowd on the game with a Keeper so eye-catching as yourself on the field, Oliver," she replied, and was startled at how dangerously sensual her own voice had sounded.

He blushed, but his fingers still lingered upon her delicate cheek. "Nah. They'll never look at me, so long as they have someone as beautiful as you."

A sudden flood of less-than-chaste ideas overtook her mind as she stared back at the young Keeper. "We should catch up with the others and start practicing," she said quickly, trying to eliminate the slight glimmer of passion she knew was now flashing in her gaze. She broke contact with Oliver when she encouraged her Nimbus into a slight burst of speed, pulling ahead of him with a mischievous smile. "C'mon, Wood. I know you can outrun even the best-thrown Quaffle, but let's see how you fly against the Quidditch Queen."

"Was that a challenge?" he shot back, grinning at her.

She couldn't help the provocative purr that glided up from her throat as she answered, "Nope. _That_ was an invitation." With that, she flattened her lithe body to her broomstick and took off like a shot, Oliver hot in pursuit, until they'd rejoined the assembly of their teammates. After she'd directed a playful smirk the Keeper's way, she said to her team, "Okay, kids, let's find out if you all can still tell the difference between a Bludger and a Border collie. Everybody to their starting positions." With that, the team flew off in opposite directions, and the first Gryffindor Quidditch practice officially began.

It took only a few moments for her perfectly peaceful practice to fall into a quick downward spiral toward ugly.

The first incident, even Darcy would admit, could have simply been an unfortunate accident, if not for the contrary feeling that still lingered in her gut. While making a low, swift dive toward a goal, Kotter had lost control and crashed into Oliver, nearly throwing the fourth-year off his broom. Kotter had been quick to apologize, and even quicker to make sure the Keeper had not been injured. Oliver, of course, good-natured and kind-hearted as he was, dismissed the whole occurrence with a smile and a wave of his hand, though Darcy herself was quite upset and ready to postpone practice till after lunch.

"The way you fuss over me, I'd think you're starting to fancy me," the Scottish boy teased her quietly as she examined him one last time with concern in her eyes.

Darcy glared playfully back at him and proclaimed, "Now I_ know_ you're injured: you _obviously_ must have brain damage to be able to think a thing like that." She gave the Quaffle a sharp toss at his gut and swept off to tail Keely. As she passed Kotter, she admonished him in her most civil, friendly tone, "Try and be a little more cautious, huh? Wouldn't do to have our Keeper beaten senseless before the season even begins."

He flashed her a smile that was a little too smug to be sheepish. "Sorry, baby, won't happen again, I promise." This was said only minutes before he snatched Brian's club right out of the Beater's hands and used it to send a Bludger hurtling in Oliver's direction. Luckily, the Keeper possessed exceedingly keen reflexes and was able to dodge as the Bludger passed mere millimeters from his left ear.

Kotter's defense, as a markedly aggravated Darcy checked Oliver a second time for damage, was that he'd been trying to deflect the ball away from his own head, and had acted out of pure reflex. Again he apologized, and again received infinite patience and understanding from Oliver, though his other teammates and especially his girlfriend were now watching him with wariness.

The third time, it is said, is the charm, and in Darcy's case, it was the Snitch the broke the Seeker's back. She had before only caught Kotter's attempts at mischief from the corners of her eyes, but it was within her complete gaze that the Chaser committed his final sin.

With absolutely no pretense of chance or mistake, Kotter put all his considerable strength into propelling the Quaffle right into the back of Oliver's head, catching the younger Gryffindor completely unaware and sending him face-first into his broomstick. The Scot sat back up with a bloody nose and a dazed expression.

A wash of burning fury seemed to course through the Quidditch captain, to the point she could barely form words, and those she managed she could speak only at a yell. "_TEAM_… _GROUND_… **_NOW!!!_**"

When they had all found footing upon the neatly-mowed grass of the pitch once more, the maelstrom of outrage that had exploded within Darcy was now under careful control and reformed into a tight ball of hatred that sat icily at the pit of her stomach. Only the flush of color in her cheeks and cold cast of her eyes gave away her true ire as she approached Kotter and told him in a low, dangerous voice, "That is _it_. I have had more than enough. Get _off_ my field."

The seventh-year male had been attempting to look repentant—and failing, as a smirk seemed fixed to his face—but at her words, his expression slipped straight into confusion, and anger. "What did you—"

"You heard me," she snapped, in no mood to be cycled through one of his little games. "Get the hell off my Quidditch field. I'm done with you and your attitude."

"You don't have the power to _throw_ me off the field!" he yelled back when he realized the coy act wasn't going to fly. "You can't do that!"

"I do and I am, and you better get out of my sight in the next ten seconds or else you will not like the results." Her tone was one of utter sobriety, and left no room for question. "If you think I'm even kidding, then you just wait there and see." Belligerently she folded her arms across her chest and even her posture seemed to dare him to remain unmoving.

He took a tentative step backwards. "You have absolutely _no_ justification for doing this," he muttered, grasping at straws. "I didn't _do_ anything."

With a disgusted snort, she replied, "I don't know what kind of idiot you take me for, Baines, but I recognize an intentional act when I see one. I just never thought you would be so petty and childish for no good reason. Now you better get out of here, and pray to Merlin that he's not seriously hurt, because if he is, I'll kick you off the team."

"I didn't do anything," Kotter said again, but his voice was soft and lacking conviction.

"Yeah. You only hit your _teammate_ in the back of the head with a Quaffle because he was talking to your girlfriend and you got jealous. Yeah, you didn't do a damn thing," she replied with startling bitterness. Silence ruled the tension-thick air for a brief moment, then for a final time she ordered, "Get. Off. My. Field."

With an unreadable expression on his face, Kotter turned his back on the team, and skulked out of the Quidditch pitch. He wouldn't speak to Darcy for two full weeks.

As the blonde male Chaser disappeared around a corner, the captain faced her team. But the looks of shock and horror that she had expected were not there; instead, the group appeared relieved, in complete agreement, and in Brian's case, downright pleased. She glanced at Oliver, who was still bleeding. "Toby, take him to the infirmary," she said, and nodded them off toward the castle. "Keely, Brian, wrestle in the Bludgers. Loren, take care of the Quaffle. One of you please let Kotter know that we have practice tomorrow from two to five, if he cares to attend. If anyone needs me… well, hopefully you won't."

With that, she made her own exit, into the locker rooms, into her dressing room, and there, for no nameable reason, she sat down and cried for a good long time.

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Once again thanks to those reading and reviewing. A girl couldn't ask for better support than you kind people.


	14. Reconciliation

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Fixing to Fly

Chapter Fourteen

Author's Note: Plot twists, plot twists, plot twists! Oh my _god_, can we say plot twists? A lot of you are going to spaz out on me for this one… just remember that it _is_ still a Darcy/Oliver romance! But oh man, am I wicked. I think I'm going to leave a lot of you on the edges of your seats begging for Chapter Fifteen! I won't make you wait too long for that one: we'll say Thursday evening at the latest, and you can all send me death-threats if you don't have Chapter Fifteen by Thursday evening. You'll likely get it sooner though; I can barely tear myself away from the computer anymore, this story's got me so involved!

*Anyway, I want to give some quick love to new reviewers that have joined the Fixing to Fly family: _D. Henderson, Jade Koenma, No Name Face, dracos-gurl, shewhodares, _and_ lilmissfrenchy_. Thanks to you all for your interest in my story and kind reviews! I hope I can keep up the good work for you all, and attract yet more new reviewers!

*And of course, intense love for all my faithfuls out there, who've shown me complete sweetness since the beginning: **Kat** ~ You're my rock, you're my island. Couldn't do it without you, chica! **Jessika** ~ Your reviews always motivate me to write more. Thanks for all the support! **Christi** ~ My days are complete when I get one of your reviews; not only are they totally sweet, they also crack me up! And _total_ props to you for multiple reviews. **pokElilpupE** ~ Your reviews have been some of the kindest and most supportive yet. Thanks for pointing out what you like about various chapters, it lets me know what I'm doing right. And **Josie** ~ You are such a sweetie! You've always got something encouraging to say. **Huge thanks to you and all my reviewers for being such wonderful, amazing people!**

Plot twist central, y'all! Enter at your own risk… and don't abuse the author, or she can't write more. Nah, go ahead, abuse the author. She is pretty evil… muahaha…

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In no time at all, news of Kotter's expulsion from the Quidditch pitch had spread throughout the entirety of Hogwarts. In every corridor, classroom, and study hall, people were chattering, whispering, rumoring, and conjecturing. When Darcy finally decided to head down to the Great Hall for a bite of lunch—she'd spent the majority of the morning after the incident secluded to her dorm—she found her, Kotter's, and Oliver's names on the tongue of every last student in the room. Even the teachers seemed to be murmuring amongst themselves with interest.

As Darcy stood on the threshold of the hall, for the second time in her seventh year, her mere presence brought a hush of instant silence to the great room. Through an act of astounding willpower, she chose to ignore the blatant stares, and started down the row of tables to her regular seat amongst the other Gryffindors. But she'd barely made two steps before the hall exploded back into conversation, and now all the voices were directed at _her_. Questions and comments assaulted the girl from every side:

"Way to go, Darcy!"

"It's about _time_ somebody put that git in his place!"

"The Hufflepuffs are with you, Darcy!"

"Hey, Darcy, are you single yet?"

"Darcy, do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

"Hey, Darcy—!"

Somehow she managed to slip into her seat, and as the clamor began to slowly die down, she asked Brian incredulously, "What is going _on_ around here? Does everyone know about this morning?" At her friend's nod, she added, "Would you listen to them all? You'd think Kotter's been _abusing_ me or something, the way they talk!"

"Well… no offense, doll, but he has, in a way," he pointed out, passing her a plate of turkey sandwiches. "And I know you've tried to keep it secret, but people notice a lot more than you'd think. Besides, Kotter's never been exactly subtle with things."

The Seeker buried her face in her hands. "Love of Merlin, why can't my life ever be normal?" she pleaded weakly.

A comforting hand fell onto her shoulder. "Don't worry, hun, everybody will have forgotten by tomorrow morning anyway," came Keely's voice, understanding and sympathetic. "Hey, did you get a chance to check on Oliver? Is he okay?"

Glad to get her mind off her own problems for a brief moment, Darcy replied, "Yeah, he's okay. Just a bloody nose is all. Madame Pomfrey made him lay down in the infirmary for a few hours, but he'll be up and around by dinner. I stopped in to see him after I got done in the locker room." Her face had still been slightly puffy and flushed from crying when she'd visited him. If the fourth-year had noticed, he hadn't said anything, only insisted on giving her a hug before she left, and repeating again that she could always talk to him if needed.

"Wood's a strong kid," Toby mused. He'd been listening to her report. "He'll bounce back like nothing. Probably ready to sneak out of the infirmary as we speak."

Darcy found herself smiling. "Yeah, you're probably right." She sent another glance around the room; a great many stares and whispers were still being directed her way. To her friends, she said, "I think I've had about enough attention for one day. I'm going up the library, see if I can't find myself a nice, dark corner to hide in and finish my homework. I'll see you all later in the common room." She slid quietly away before the barrage of voices could assault her again.

***

For two blissfully uneventful weeks, Darcy went on about her daily life, falling easily back into the routine of classes and practice. She hadn't spoken a word to Kotter since the incident on the pitch, though he'd attended all the following practices. When she needed to advise him on a play or maneuver, she found herself speaking _at_ him rather than _to_ him, as though he were a brick wall incapable of response. Strangely enough, this system seemed to work.

The other change that had resulted from Kotter's absence was the arrival of Oliver as a permanent fixture in her life. The group of Gryffindor seventh-years had more or less adopted their younger Housemate, and he could now be found laughing and joking amongst them on evenings and weekends. He'd even taken Kotter's place at Darcy's side during meals—the sulking Chaser had moved to the opposite end of the table to eat alone.

Having the Keeper so close was a blessing and a curse to Darcy, especially with her relationship on the rocks at the moment. Oliver gave her the support and attention she'd always craved from Kotter, along with the freedom to be herself… yet she couldn't help but feel the occasional pang of longing for her life to return to its previous, predictable norm. She hadn't been able to write home to her parents in nearly a month, as it was; whenever she tried to word the state of her affairs, especially in regards to Kotter, it always came out sounding whiny and childish, as though she was trying to make excuses. How to tell them that the boy they referred to as 'son-in-law' was in fact an insecure control freak? That she'd fallen out of love with him after year three of their now-five-year relationship…

Giving her head of blonde curls a sharp shake, Darcy pulled herself out of musing. It was after nine already and, sitting in a secluded section of library with a fortress of books piled around her, her History of Magic report on Edwin the Eccentric was barely a third of the way completed.

Instead, she'd been doodling in her notebook, and now an entire page was filled with tiny drawings of broomsticks and golden snitches, along with multiple scrawled notations such as '_Potions sucks pastrami_' and '_Snape eats babies._'

Now she forced herself to flip open one of the many dusty texts and study its yellowed pages, pausing every once and again to scribble something down on her parchment. She'd nearly finished the essay when a now-familiar voice acquired her attention. "You around here somewhere, Darcy?" Oliver called, stuck somewhere in a nearby aisle, by the sound.

"Here, Ollie," she replied, and a moment later, his smiling face popped around the corner.

"Madame Pince told me she thought she saw you sitting in the biographies section, but she didn't know where you were for sure," he said as he dropped into the seat across from her. He sent a quick glance at the various books. "Who is…" he twisted his head to read upside-down, "Edwin the Eccentric?"

With exquisite sarcasm she answered, "Oh, he's positively _fascinating_. After studying him for the past three hours, I've learned that he did absolutely nothing of any importance whatsoever. Having learned about this great man, my purpose in life is now fulfilled."

Oliver laughed. "So I guess I'm not interrupting you then, am I?"

"Hmm, let me check my pulse; nope, still beating, but barely. I'd say you're just in time," she replied, and let the heavy book she'd been perusing fall shut with a cloud of dust. She gave him her most dazzling smile. "Entertain me, my dear Mr. Wood."

"How about I feed you instead?" He produced a box of Bertie Bott's from his robes.

Darcy's sparkling sapphire eyes widened and as she accepted the gift, she cooed, "Ohh, Oliver, I think I might be in love. You're my Keeper in shining scarlet robes." She tore greedily into the box, and instantly stuffed a bright blue bean into her mouth. Then she flinched. "Eeuww. Bath water. That's a new one."

The fourth-year only smiled back at her, an odd expression on his face.

Suspiciously she studied her young friend, chewing slowly on a saffron-colored bean that tasted of butter. "All right, Wood. What's on your mind?" she demanded finally. "People only bring me candy when they want me calm for some reason or another. So just go ahead and say what you have to, and I promise not to maim you… _too_ badly, anyway."

He fiddled distractedly with her spare quill, carefully avoiding her gaze as he mused, "You might change that promise after you hear what I have to say."

"Try me," she prompted. "And keep in mind I have no patience."

A brief smile traced Oliver's face, but it quickly faded again, and her reddish-gold eagle feather quill seemed to occupy the majority of his attention. In a barely audible, slightly mumbled voice, he related, "You're probably going to kill me… but I just got done talking to Kotter. For an hour."

Darcy choked, and not because of the red Tabasco bean she'd bitten into. "_What?_ Are you absolutely _mental_? Merlin, Oliver, did you have a death wish?"

"Hear me out for a second!" he interrupted her, holding his hands up placatingly. "Please? And then you can abuse me all you want."

Arranging her features into an expression of impassiveness, she said, "I'm listening."

"Okay." He drew a deep breath, then began, "The past two weeks have been, by far, my best ever at Hogwarts. Being able to spend time with _you_, and Brian, Keely, Toby, and Loren… you guys have got to be the most wonderful people on the earth. And _you_, Darcy…" He sighed with resignation, and a pink blush began to creep into his cheeks. "I suppose there's no easy way to say this… I, um, I've… well, the day I met you… you really are very beautiful, and smart—"

"Ollie, honey, just spit it out." She put the stumbling boy back on track.

"Since the day I met you, I've had a crush on you, and it's only gotten stronger with the last two weeks and everything, and I wanted you to know that I _really_, _really_ like you. There. I said it." He was avoiding her gaze again, and his face was now a brilliant scarlet.

A crazy flutter rippled wildly through her stomach, and the Seeker found a rather goofy smile seeping over her lips as she began, "Oliver, I—"

"No, I'm not done yet!" he quickly interjected, bringing her to stunned silence. "I mean, I don't want you to say anything till I've said all I need to." Darcy's answer was her continued quiet. "Okay. So like I said, I just got done talking to Kotter, and you're probably wondering why. Well… well, I know how I feel about you, Darcy. Being around you is like being on some wonderful drug. You're like sunlight—warming and brilliant and natural…"

Darcy, who was fighting off tears at his sweet words, must have swallowed a bit too loudly, for suddenly the fourth-year shook his head, and a renewed blush came to his cheeks.

He quickly continued on, "But anyway. I know if that's the way _I_ feel about you, then what about Kotter? At first I thought he was just pouting because you kicked him off the field, but the more I thought about it, the more it came to me: he was heartbroken. I knew I had to talk to him, no matter how great the last weeks have been for me. So I did. I found him, and I told him the truth about how I felt about you, but I then I told him that I knew he really loved you, and as long as he did, I would never interfere with you two. And then he told me how much he loved you, and how much he misses you. He knows he hasn't exactly done a good job of showing it, Darcy, but he really _does_ care. And he wants you to give him another chance."

Opening her mouth to speak, she found there were no words to be had. Oliver reached across the table and took her hands in his own.

"I promised him, Darcy. I promised I wouldn't leave here until I'd convinced you to go talk to him. Because I want you to be happy, and he really wants to make you happy. He's… he's a pretty good guy, Kotter. I think you should give him a chance."

Tears were threatening to invade her vision. She wanted to kiss Oliver. She wanted to kick him. She wanted to kiss him _then_ kick him. He'd somehow managed to solve all her problems in one simple conversation—letting her slip back to the simplicity of her previous world, and yet giving her renewed hope with the admission of his own feelings, so she knew the chemistry that she felt between them was not all one-sided. And he'd done all this at the cost of his personal pride and against his own desires.

She released a sigh and a shaky laugh, and said, "Oh Oliver, you make it impossible for a girl to be mad at you."

Smiling in return, he said, "It's a gift. So will you talk to him then? For me?"

For a moment she sat silently composing her thoughts, her brow creased into a slight frown. "Did he tell you all the things about our relationship, Oliver? All the reasons why it's come down to this? Did he tell you all the things he's done?"

Now Oliver's visage clouded as well. "He told me some things. Not a lot, though."

Darcy felt the acidic taste of bitterness at the back of her throat once more. That was perfectly Kotter: telling only half the story, in order to make himself the good guy. That was why she was so reluctant to give him yet another chance. She'd already given him so many chances, she'd lost count, and still here they were. Why should this time be any different than the last?

As if he could read her thoughts, the Keeper said, "Don't think too much about that, Darcy. He didn't need to tell me what he's done, it's not my business. All I know is that I've never seen a human being so sincere. And I consider myself a pretty good judge of character."

"You are," she admitted, and found her reluctance melting against the soft glow of his smiling chocolate eyes. "If you think he was sincere, then he was. I trust you, Oliver."

He smiled, though he could not banish completely the touches of pain that lurked behind the expression, reminders of the sacrifice he had made for her. Darcy suddenly hated herself for dragging him into the twisted, deceitful realm of her life. The least thing she could do, she knew, was honor his request that she speak to Kotter.

She squeezed his hands, and tried on her most genuine smile. "I'll go and talk to Kotter now, listen to what he has to say," she said, and stood, gathering her items into her bag as he watched her. They walked to the doors of the library in silence, and there she stopped and reached out to trail her fingertips along his defined jaw. She said, "You're timeless, Oliver Wood. You're exquisite. And no matter what happens, I'll never forget all the things you do for me. Thank you." She leaned in and kissed him gently, then walked away, not daring to turn back lest he see the tears in her eyes.

***

By the time she reached Kotter's dorm, she was collected again, and slipped quietly into the room after receiving an instant "Come in!" at her knock. He was sitting alone at his desk, looking tense as though he'd been waiting for someone—_her_, she supposed. As she stepped into the flickering torchlight and let it illuminate her soft features, a brilliant grin formed across her boyfriend's face. In a soft voice, he greeted her, "Hello, baby."

"I talked to Oliver," was all she could think to say.

"So did I," he replied, on his feet now as he crossed the room to meet her. "Did you tell you what I said? Did he tell you… no, _I_ need to tell you." He dropped to his knees, startling Darcy with his suddenness, and she started to take a step back when he reached out and took her hands. "I've been so stupid, Darcy. You're the greatest thing I've ever had in my life, and I've somehow managed to do every stupid thing in my power to push you away. But I'm crazy about you, and it's killing me to have us apart."

"Then why haven't you said anything before now, before Oliver talked to _you_?" she demanded, the old doubt surfacing in her mind.

"Because I didn't know _how_! Don't you know the reason I get so protective and demanding all the time is because you intimidate me? You're so beautiful, and smart, and-and just _amazing_, that I feel like I'm not _good_ enough for you. And if you find someone better than me out there, I might lose you. You are _so_ important to me, baby."

She could see why Oliver had believed Kotter's sincerity; even _she_ was now beginning to believe it, looking deep into his emerald eyes. Was he really ready to change, after five long years? Was it possible…?

"I want to start over with you, Darcy. I want to treat you like the goddess you are, and show you how much I really care about you. That I _love_ you… Can you ever forgive me, DC? Will you let me try and make up for all the damage I've done?" His tone was pleading, his face nakedly honest, and his sweaty-palmed hands clamped uncomfortably tight around her own, as if he was afraid she would try to run.

Darcy stared down at Kotter for a very long time, every fiber of her body screaming in conflict. For every bit of her that bought into his words, that wanted desperately to believe that the picture-perfect façade she'd been living could actually come true, the other half of her cried out that this was just one more lie, and she had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. And of course, she couldn't get the visage of Oliver out of her head, giving her that last saddened smile…

"No pressure, babes, but my knees are starting to hurt," Kotter interjected, and that should have made up her mind right then to turn around and walk out.

But instead she did something very foolish—not the first or last foolish thing she would do, but perhaps one of the worst. She looked her boyfriend of five years in the eyes, smiled, and said, "I want to believe that you can change, and I'm willing to give you the chance to try."

"Darcy, I love you so much!" he cried, and suddenly the blonde found herself ensnared in a desperate embrace, Kotter holding her as though he had no intentions of ever letting her go. The thought that maybe _didn't_ sent a tiny ripple of panic through her, but she soon quelled it, and melted into his warm arms. It had, after all, been two full weeks since she'd last been in any sort of lover's embrace, and she _had_ missed it. "I'm going to make everything up to you, I swear it. Just wait, baby, you'll see."

"I hope so, Kotter," she said and allowed herself to enjoy the passionate kiss he placed upon her lips. She chose to ignore the foreboding feeling that had sunk into the back of her brain… and the secret wish that it was Oliver Wood sliding his tongue deftly over her own.

It would be several weeks before the true depth of her mistake came to light.


	15. Good News, Bad Moods

****

Fixing To Fly

Chapter Fifteen

Author's Note: It is Thursday evening (9:54 Ohio time) and as promised, here is Chapter Fifteen. Tomorrow is my last day of exams, and I have a three-day weekend ahead of me, so Sixteen and Seventeen should be short in following. Guess what? Fixing to Fly is up to 66 reviews!! Yay, I'm so happy! Of course, I owe it all to you, my wonderful readers and reviewers. Without your support, I don't think this fic would be half as good as it is. You all drive me to write my best for you! My eternal thanks go out to you all.

I won't take up much more of your time here, so you can get to the much-awaited Fifteen, but one quick side note: Darcy's costume ideas were inspired by a particular piece of HP fan art I found on the Monthly Harry Potter Fan Art Challenge website. You can see it for yourself at this address: http://www.floo.nu/hpmonthly/nov02/starlette.jpg Just substitute Ginny and Draco for Darcy and… well, I won't tell you that quite yet. It'll ruin the upcoming fun. ;)

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September leaked into October, and life went back to a surprisingly pleasant norm for Darcy. Kotter was true to his word, and treating her like a princess, save the occasional disapproving scowl when she spent a little too much time with Oliver. Her relationship with the fourth-year also improved, their bond deepening in light of his honesty and selflessness. Even Snape was treating her with something akin to tolerance since her show of backbone with Kotter on the Quidditch field. Impossible as it seemed, her world was nearly perfect.

A chilly Tuesday morning the second week of October brought exciting news to the school. As a Prefect, Darcy had known of the announcement in advance, but watching her friends' reactions to Dumbledore's words delighted her nonetheless.

"If I may have your attention for a brief moment before we begin our meal," said the headmaster, rising to his feet at the front table. Three-hundred-some pairs of eyes focused instantly upon him, a palpable sensation of curiosity filling the Great Hall. "I have two very important items to address this morning, and if you will be so kind as to spare this time to listen, I don't think you shall be disappointed."

A pin drop would have seemed obscenely loud, had it fallen in the room at that moment.

"First, I know you are all aware of the Yule Ball that will be held in December. But, in addition to this event, I am delighted to inform you that a Halloween Masquerade Ball will _also_ be held, on October the thirty-first." A tittering ripple of conversation broke out along the tables, and was quickly silenced by a single raised hand of Dumbledore. "The only requirement for this event is that all those who choose to attend come in costume. This ball is open to all years of students, and as the thirty-first is a Thursday, and the ball is likely to go late into the night, your Friday classes will be cancelled."

Several startled looks surfaced among the occupants of the teachers' tables, and even Darcy was surprised; they had not covered this option during the Prefect meetings.

Like a much revered and honored king holding court, Dumbledore continued his statement. "The second item at hand is, in fact, directly related to the first. Since this is to be a costume ball, it will of course be necessary for you to obtain materials to create costumes, so I am equally pleased to announce that this coming Saturday shall be the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. I will also be extending this special privilege to first and second-year students for this trip _only_, to encourage you all to join in the festivities of the Masquerade Ball. Thank you for your time." He completed his speech with a graceful low bow, then sat back down.

Breakfast was an especially boisterous event that morning, and Darcy had to endure extensive teasing from Keely for not spilling to her the secret of the Masquerade Ball.

"I was sworn to secrecy," the blonde upheld for a sixth time, laughing as she stuffed a bite of blueberry pancake into her mouth. "It would have ruined the surprise, if I'd told you." Keely opened her mouth to complain again, but Toby shoved a muffin between her teeth before she could form words. Darcy laughed again, and now considered the two male Gryffindors seated on either side of her. Oliver and Kotter had fallen into the habit of sandwiching her during meals. "So what do my two protectors think?"

"_I_ think I better start considering a costume," replied the Keeper with enthusiasm, flashing a grin at the girl. "What about you? Any ideas?"

She smirked. "Actually, as I've had since the beginning of the school year to think about this, I came up with the perfect costumes for me and my date: devil and angel. Haven't decided which I should go as yet—_no_ comments from _you_ prats, thank you!" She cut off the responses of Oliver, Brian, and Keely, all of whom had wicked smiles on their faces, and instead turned to Kotter. "What do you think? You want to be a devil or an angel?"

But the Chaser was frowning, and didn't meet her gaze as he muttered, "I don't care. Why do we have to go anyway? I don't really want to…"

"Oh, come _on_!" Darcy protested, feeling a fountain of annoyance spring up within her. "Don't be that way, Kotter. It'll be so much fun!" She tugged playfully on the sleeve of his robe. "Come on, don't disappoint your beautiful girlfriend. Tell you what, I'll even let you be the devil, since I've got the angelic blonde hair thing going already. What do you say?"

"I'll think about it," he grumbled, but was looking at her with irritation in his gaze, and the girl got a sudden bad feeling in the back of her mind. She chose to let the issue go.

"Okay. Just let me know," she said, turning away from her boyfriend with a troubled look. She found Oliver staring carefully between the couple, a suspicious look on his own features, as if he now questioned even his own previous judgement of Kotter, perhaps wondering if the act was starting to wear off. Before the issue could weigh too heavily on either of their hearts, she quickly asked him, "So, Ollie, who do you think you'll go with to the ball?"

He laughed, and sent a secret look meant only for her. "Well, I'll probably just go by myself, since there's nobody I'm really interested in right now…"

Raising a playful eyebrow with the sleek smile of a conspirator on her face, she replied, "Ahh, doing the aloof, unattainable bachelor routine. Very mysterious _and_ very sexy. Unless of course you're Brian, and then the routine comes out desperate and pathetic…" Her sapphire eyes glittered as she beamed across the table at the Beater, who was giving her in return a dagger-filled glare. Coyly she mused, "Oh, did I say that out loud?"

Brian brandished a butter knife at her. "Just remember, I know where you sleep."

Laughing, Darcy started to reply when the flutter of wings from above drew the attention of the group: the morning mail had arrived. As hundreds of owls of all shape, size, color, and breed filled the air, the students raised their gazes above, each in search of his or her own particular messenger. The Gryffindor Prefect soon spotted Manhattan, the barn owl swooping low with a small parcel and several letters clutched between his talons. She reached up to intercept the mail—and was promptly knocked in the head with her package, the small box wrapped in brown parchment bouncing off her forehead and landing on her plate while her letters were strewn elsewhere. Darcy glared up at the retreating owl, who gave her a reproachful screech in return before disappearing again through the high windows of the Great Hall.

Kotter and Brian were stifling snorts of laughter while Oliver stared perplexedly at the blonde. "What was _that_ about?" he demanded, fighting a snicker himself.

"Ohh, he brought a dead mouse into the dorm last night and I threw it back out the window. He's mad at me now," she explained, rubbing tentatively at the welt forming on her brow. "I'll save him something nice from dinner tonight; that should cool him off a bit." She shrugged and gathered her scattered mail. "No matter. Let's see what the little prat brought me."

The package was one she'd been expecting. Over a week ago, she'd written home to her parents in request they visit Gringotts for her and draw some extra money out of her vault for the upcoming holidays. In truth, she was surprised they'd responded so quickly; her father, an Auror, was constantly busy at the Ministry of Magic and her mother the habitual procrastinator usually forgot to even _read_ the mail until a month after its arrival. But then she read over the attached note, and her confusion was resolved—her brother Jaime was home for the week and had run the errand for her. She made a mental note to write him before the week was out.

She then opened the additional three letters, one by one, with Oliver peeking over her shoulder. "Marcus Flint!" the fourth-year gasped in shock when he caught sight of the signature at the bottom of one page. "What is _he_ doing writing to you?"

"He's a Quidditch captain; these are all from the other Quidditch captains," she explained, indicating the other letters. "I wrote them all yesterday to see if any of them were interested in doing a scrimmage against us on Sunday afternoon."

Quickly she read over the notes, and found affirmative responses from all three captains, even Flint. But the Slytherin captain's letter contained one condition: that she keep the Weasley twins away from the Slytherin common room in the future. Apparently, Flint was still a little bitter about the whole dungbombs incident.

Of the three, Darcy decided to accept the offer of Evan Rockford, captain of the Ravenclaw team. They were perhaps the weakest team at Hogwarts this year, judging by their performance at the practice she'd spied in on. She'd give her own team a little practice and an easy morale booster against Ravenclaw before subjecting them to the more skillful Hufflepuffs and the fiercely aggressive Slytherins.

Excusing herself from her table, she quickly traveled around to the other Quidditch captains and informed them of her choice, cementing a two o'clock date with the Ravenclaw team and politely thanking both the Hufflepuff captain and Marcus Flint for their replies.

"What's wrong, Reed, afraid your team can't handle us?" sneered the Slytherin when she approached him.

She regarded him with thinly veiled disgust. "_Hardly_. I just don't particularly care to deal with your beastly team's cheating with no refs present to regulate. Don't get your boxers in a knot, Flint, we'll beat the crap out of your team soon enough when the season starts," she replied and drew herself up proudly, letting him get a good look at her curvaceous body.

Shooting a quick look at the Gryffindor table across the room, Flint mused, "So are you still going with that stupid git Baines, or did you finally get some brains about you?"

She laughed cynically, hands set on her lithe hips. "Don't tell me you're _interested_ in me, Marcus? Because, baby, I would tear you apart."

The Slytherin grinned, giving her a disturbingly clear view of his crooked and gapped teeth, as he replied in a low voice, "Is that an offer?"

Darcy's expression was not amused. "I'll see you on the Quidditch pitch, Flint." She turned sharply on heel and started away, when an afterthought hit her, and she called over her shoulder, "Oh, and better watch your head… for Bludgers, you know. Tricky little bastards, those." She shot him her most smug smile and glided back across the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table, her head held high in confidence as she lived up to the Quidditch Queen she was.

***

Brilliant white October sunlight warmed the grounds of Hogwarts on Saturday afternoon, providing a pleasantly temperate atmosphere for the year's first visit to Hogsmeade. Dressed in a sky blue button-down shirt and black capris—her 'muggle' clothes, as she thought of them—Darcy found herself strolling down the Main Street of the quaint little town as her fellow schoolmates ran gleefully around her. They'd rode to Hogsmeade together in the same carriage, she, Oliver, Kotter, Toby, Loren, Keely, and Brian, but now that they'd all arrived, the diversities of their tight-knit group began to show.

"I want to hit The Chaser's Lair, see what new broomsticks they've got in this year," Toby said instantly, glancing off in the direction of the Quidditch shop. "Plus I'm just about out of leather oil for my pads."

With a nod Loren agreed, "Me, as well."

"Psshh, forget that!" Keely gave her mass of chestnut curls an indignant toss. "This little Gryffindor is _running_ all the way to Honeydukes, and no one had best get in my way, or else they'll get my Beater's club right up their—"

"_And_ I think that's enough out of you, Keely," Brian interrupted as he clapped a hand over the Scottish girl's mouth. To the group, he said, "If no one minds, I'd like to stop by Scribbles and Blibs and see if they've got the book I want. I promised my sister I'd get it for her for Christmas, if I could find it."

"Can't we just go straight to the Three Broomsticks?" lamented Kotter, looking irritated and slightly claustrophobic with the crush of people all around them.

"I thought we were all going to Gladrags Wizardwear so we could pick up materials for our costumes!" Darcy gazed between her friends, but they were all lost in their own individual worlds, all looking toward the shops they desired to visit. Only Oliver returned her glance with a shrug and helpless smile. She sighed dramatically. "All right, you know what? We're just going to get on each other's nerves if we start dragging each other around places. So why don't we just split up, and we'll all meet at the Three Broomsticks in an hour, okay?"

No sooner had she said the words than five of the seven broke off in varying directions, leaving only the Keeper and Seeker standing alone in the middle of the street. She raised a curious eyebrow at her lone companion. "Nowhere you want to go, Oliver?"

He shrugged again. "Nope. I came here to get my costume and hang out with you. Other'n that, I'm just along for the ride."

A smile illuminated her features. "Sweetness. Let's go then," she said cheerfully, and took his arm in demure, ladylike fashion as they started towards the clothier at the end of the lane. They were nearly halfway there when Darcy released Oliver and sprinted suddenly forward, just as two streaks of red went dashing by. The fourth-year ran quickly to catch up and emerged through a throng of Ravenclaws to find the blonde with a freckled identical face held in a headlock beneath either arm.

"—such a hurry to get to Zonko's," she was saying, the twins grinning mischievously up at her, "but I'm warning you now: if I find anything in my bed that explodes, transforms, or _breathes_, I will personally hand you both over to Professor Snape with my blessings that he do his worst to you. Understood?"

The twin on her right—Fred, if Oliver remembered correctly—replied with angelic innocence, "C'mon, Darcy, you know we'd never do anything to _you_…"

"Yeah, we only prank our enemies!" George chimed in.

"Well, and our friends," countered Fred.

"And random passers-by!"

"And family, of course!"

The Quidditch captain opened her mouth to interject, when the duo said suddenly in unison, "_But we won't prank Darcy Reed!_"

Eyeing the two identical redheads thoughtfully, a playful smile finally slid over her features, and she released them, but not before whispering to them, "In that case, bring me back something interesting. I've got a little score of my own to settle with Mr. Marcus Flint…" She handed them a few Sickles from her bag, then sent them scurrying off to the joke shop with devilish smiles on their indistinguishable features.

"Why do you encourage them?" asked Oliver as he fell into step with her once more. "They're always losing points for the House, and they're never serious at practice…"

Her sapphire eyes glittering with mirth, she explained, "Because they remind me that people who are always serious lead _very_ boring lives. And then they try to press their serious, boring lives on everyone else, and get pouty and hostile when no one listens, and then they purposely blow shots during Quidditch games for three straight months…" She glanced back toward the Three Broomsticks, where Kotter had disappeared. "Not that I'm talking about anyone in _particular_ or anything."

Giving her a gentle, playful shove, he laughed, "You're horrible, Darcy."

"Yeah, pretty much," she said with a giggle, then took hold of his arm again, tugging him towards the waiting doors of Gladrags. "Now come on, Wood, I've got a pocket full of hard-earned cash that I'm intent on wasting."

The interior of Gladrags Wizardwear was crowded wall to wall with countless racks of every style of clothing imaginable. It took only a few minutes before Darcy had acquired an armful of different garments and was winding her way to the dressing rooms. She left Oliver sitting outside after finagling from him a promise that he would observe and comment honestly on her various outfits.

For five minutes, he waited. Then ten. Then fifteen. As a rule, the fourth-year was remarkably patient, part of his easy-going personality, but finally he rose and gave the dressing room door a sharp knock. "Did you get lost in there?"

A frustrated sigh answered him, then, "Sorry, Oliver… I just can't decide… I've tried them both on a million times now… oh, hell, I don't _know_! Here, I'll show you, you can tell me what you think…" The door banged forcefully open—and suddenly to Oliver it seemed the air of Gladrags had grown terribly thin. His heart thudded crazily in his chest as he gaped at the blonde. Red silk comprised the dress she wore, sweeping sleekly over the girl's honey-colored flesh. A strapless, corset-style top wrapped tightly about her torso, done up the front in black bows, and brought special attention to the already-considerable swell of her breasts. At her slender hips, the dress loosened out into a flowing train, with one side slit all the way up to the middle of her thigh to reveal a lacy black garter belt. She'd accessorized the ensemble with pearl earrings and a black velvet choker, attached to which was a live fire lily. Her shoes were black heels with straps that crisscrossed artfully up her calves.

The Keeper swallowed thickly as the lovely Quidditch captain swept past, headed for a nearby bank of mirrors. "I'm so conflicted," she pouted aloud, studying her reflection. "I _love_ this dress, but the white one I picked out for my angel self is amazing too…"

Opening his mouth to reply, Oliver found he could emit only a wordless squeak.

The mirror, meanwhile, had comments of its own. "_A fairer sight I've never reflected, young mistress_," came an english-lilted masculine voice. "_Yet if the lady looks as stunning in white, I would suggest she purchase both_."

At this Darcy laughed. "Not only flattering, but a salesman to the core. I may just take you up on that. I _do_ need a gown for the Yule Ball, after all…" she had been musing to herself, and now suddenly remembered her friend's presence. "Ollie, what do _you_ think?"

"Umm… muh?" Intelligence had fled him for the moment.

"Yeah, you're right. I think I _will_ get them both. Kotter will just have to deal with being the angel for Halloween," she replied, seeming not to notice his flustered state. She gave a graceful twirl, examining herself once more in mirror and growing quite pleased with the sight she saw. Squealing happily, she spun around and kissed a still-stunned Oliver. "I love it! I'll change and pay for my dresses, then we can meet up with the others, huh?"

"Okay?" he managed to reply, but she'd already vanished into the dressing room. When she emerged once more, redressed, the red dress was neatly folded in her arms with shoes, garter, choker, and earrings on top in their appropriate boxes. Peeking from beneath all this was a tiny hint of white fabric. Oliver, who'd at last regained his dignity, shot a curious look at the girl. "Do I get to see the other dress?"

Darcy spied the white slip, and quickly tucked it under the rest. "Nope," she replied with a smug smile. "Nobody gets to see it till the night of the Yule Ball." And she refused to say another word on the subject, banishing the fourth-year to wait outside while she paid.

Everyone else was waiting for the two when they arrived at the Three Broomsticks. Darcy slid into a seat between Brian and Kotter. "I see I wasn't the _only_ one to walk away with my change purse a little lighter," she mused, gazing contemplatively around at the gathered company. An immense bag of sweets sat open before Keely, who dug into it every couple of seconds for another piece of candy; Toby and Loren huddled over an issue of _Quidditch Today_, arguing about an article; and beneath Brian's chair was laid a wrapped, rectangular parcel—apparently he'd found his book.

Darcy sat her bag of clothing at her feet just as the Three Broomsticks' proprietor, Madam Rosmerta, approached their table. "Evening, dears. What can I get you this…" she paused, and studied the seven again more closely, until a brilliant smile of recognition washed over her rounded, cherubic features. "My Merlin, I almost didn't recognize you! This can't be the Gryffindor Quidditch team! Darcy Reed, look at you, you pretty thing! Older every time I see you! And Brian Keeler, you haven't changed one bit. And Toby and Loren and Kotter and Keely. I would have thought you'd all graduated by now!"

"It's our last year," answered Toby, blushing as he always did around the attractive barkeep.

"So it is," she replied, smiling at the Chaser until even the tips of his ears had turned pink. She then shifted her gaze to Oliver. "Ah, I see you've recruited someone new."

"Madam Rosmerta, Oliver Wood. Gryffindor Keeper," Darcy made the introductions, and after the two had shook, she added, "And everything we order is on my bill tonight, Rosmerta. In honor of my fabulous team, who have all performed beyond my wildest expectations already this short year." Her compatriots voiced instant protests, but the Quidditch captain would hear none of it. Ignoring her team, she told Rosmerta, "Do I need to tell you what we all want?"

The barkeep laughed, "You most certainly do _not_, Darcy Reed. I've known you seven years now, I think I can remember what my regular customers order. Let me see… butterbeer for Brian and Toby, gillywater for Keely, root beer for Loren, red currant rum for Kotter, and an Italian cherry soda on the rocks with a twist for the Quidditch Queen, here." She grinned teasingly at Darcy. "The only order I don't yet know is yours, Mr. Wood."

"Um, I'll just have what Darcy's having," he said with a shrug.

Thoughtfully Rosmerta eyed the Keeper and Seeker, a strange smile on her features. "So that's two Italian cherries," she said finally, still considering the two aforementioned Gryffindors. "Alright then, that'll be up in just—"

"Actually, I just want a water," said Kotter suddenly, startling the barkeep and his friends.

The waitress's visage melted from contemplative to confused, and she stared for a long time at Kotter before she said, "As you wish, Mr. Baines. I'll be back in a moment."

Darcy waited until Rosmerta had departed before she turned to her boyfriend, a perplexed look on her own tailored features. "What's up with you, Kotter? You never get water. In the seven years we've been going here, you've _never_ gotten water. None of us have."

"Yeah, well, it's a little bit stupid to always be ordering the same thing, I think," he replied shortly, arms folded across his chest.

"It does make it easier for the waitress, though," she pointed out.

Snorting, Kotter sneered at the Seeker, "How would _you_ know?"

"Well, it just happens that the summer before last, I decided to get a job, to make some money and see what the working world was like. I ended up waiting tables at the Fluttering Phoenix in Diagon Alley, and I'll tell you now, I _loved_ regulars. They always ordered the same thing, and it made things a _lot_ easier on me," she replied, her tone slightly offended by Kotter's sudden, baseless hostility.

Attempting to break the tension, Brian announced teasingly, "You were a waitress, DC? What on earth for? Your family's like, totally saturated with cash. Did you run out of Galleons to dump in your swimming pool or something?"

Darcy laughed, punching her friend in the shoulder. "Yeah, that's it. Plus, there's a couple Pacific islands I've been saving up to buy—"

"Okay, we get that you're flippin' rich, just get over it!" Kotter suddenly exploded, and leapt to his feet quickly enough to make his chair fly backward. Silence crept instantly over the bar as all eyes fell to the seventh-year, who glared defiantly back at them all.

Slowly, calmly, the blonde stood, and took her boyfriend by the elbow. "I think we'll take a walk," she said in a low voice, and dug her nails hard into Kotter's arm. He followed her out of the bar and down the street to a secluded alley without argument. When they were safely out of earshot of Hogsmeade's general populace, she hissed angrily at him, "Just what is your problem today? Snapping at me, being a prat about everything? You got something you want to tell me?"

"No," he answered, a bit too quickly.

"Listen, you better tell me what bug's up your ass right now, because I refuse to go back into that bar with you still acting like this," she replied and took his chin into her palm, forcing him to look at her. He stared sullenly back. "_What's going on_, Kotter?"

Defiantly he pursed his lips and remained silent, but Darcy had been in far too many staring contests with the Chaser before, and knew all the tricks to make him break. After a solid minute of her sharp sapphire eyes penetrating his sulking emerald ones, he finally looked away and muttered, "It's all your fault."

Taking offense, she demanded, "What's all my fault?!"

"You're doing it again, Darcy. You're always… fawning over him, and making eyes at him, and flirting with him. You might as well just scream out that you're screwing him. That's probably what you did when you two took off together, huh? Huh?" A slightly hysterical gleam had crept into eyes, and his voice had risen several pitches. "After all those things I promised to you, you just go off and cheat on me anyway, you bitch—"

Darcy's fist met with Kotter's jaw before the boy could even prepare. He stumbled backward into the wall, a bewildered expression on his face as he rubbed at the forming bruise on his chin. With fists still balled at her sides, she ground out, "Don't you _ever_ call me that. Or accuse me of cheating again. _Ever_."

Speechless, he could only gape at her.

"If I've told you once, I've told you five million times, Kotter: I would _never_ cheat on you. Least of all with Oliver, which is what you're accusing me of doing. And that you would have the _nerve_ to suggest it after _he_ was the one to patch up our relationship in the first place! I am so disgusted with you right now, it's not even funny. I'm starting to regret that I agreed to give you another chance in the first place—"

"No. No, don't say that," he pleaded, his words a bit slurred from his slowly swelling jaw. "I am so sorry, Darcy, I didn't mean to say that. I didn't mean any of it, I swear."

"You never _do_! That's just it! You _never_ do! And yet you say it anyway. How in the name of Merlin am I supposed to believe anything you say anymore? I can't do this much longer, Kotter, the stress is burning me out!" She paced the alley, running her slender fingers frantically through her hair. After so long of relative peace, the last thing she'd been expecting that day was a fight. Her empty stomach knotted itself over to point she felt like throwing up.

He started toward her, then paused, carefully eyed her fists, and chose to remain a few steps back. In a soft voice, he placated her, "I know it is, baby. And I really don't mean to do the things I do. I just can't help it sometimes. But I've been better lately, haven't I? I really have been trying. It's just… I see you with him… He makes you laugh. I've never made you laugh."

"You're jealous because he makes me laugh?" said Darcy, with a bit more loathing in her voice than she'd meant to convey.

"It's stupid, I know."

She barked a short, cruel laugh. "Yeah, just a little." She paused in her pacing, and stared at Kotter long enough that he began to squirm. At last her features softened. "All right. All right. We both have overreacted here. You're right. You have been doing a lot better. I can't expect miracles overnight, I guess." In a gesture of peace, she held out her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too." Surpassing her outstretched appendage, he put his arms around her and drew her close, dropping a kiss to the soft hollow of her neck.

Darcy had begun to lean into his ministrations when she caught from the corner of her eye his own gaze, and she froze. The sincerity and kindness that had been in those emerald eyes for the past two weeks was now absent, though he was obviously trying hard to feign the proper expressions. An icy cold hand seemed to clutch down on her heart as she stepped out of his grasp and stared at him. The persistent feeling of mistrust that had been dwelling in the back of her mind since the Quidditch pitch incident now flashed drastically through her body.

"Um… we should probably get back to the bar… Darcy? What?" He was getting uncomfortable beneath her scrutinizing glare, but tried on a shaky smile nonetheless. "Baby? What do you say?"

Her voice flat, she agreed, "Let's go," and let him take her hand as they reentered the bar. The rest of the day failed to be as bright for the girl, as a shadow of warning had fallen over her mind. She resolved to wait and see what the following day's Quidditch scrimmage would bring.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For some reason, I feel like I didn't write this chapter as well as the others… I mean, I put a lot of effort into it… I don't know. Maybe I'm paranoid. Anyway. Drop me some feedback so I know if I did okay. I really do hope you liked it though! Look for Sixteen and Seventeen up sometime this weekend.

Much love and good hair days to you all ~ *Adele*


	16. The Many Unanswered Whys

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Sixteen

Author's Note: Sorry about the bit of extended wait on this one. My social life decided to make a surprising reappearance in the last few days. I said two chapters this weekend, and well, technically, it _is_ still _my_ weekend (go Martin Luther King Day!) Anyway. Seventeen should be up later this evening, I imagine. I just wanted to give you this now to tide you over.

I'll warn you now, it's a bit angsty toward the end and delves a little into psychology (but not so deeply that your average Jane like me couldn't understand it). This chapter is mostly for **Christi**, who voiced some very intelligent concerns in her last review. Hopefully, this'll help her, and all of you, to understand the many unanswered whys of our dear Darcy Reed. And for **dracos-gurl**, two of the most entertaining Oliver-centric stories, in my opinion, are _Chasing Mr. Wood_ by iloverupert13 and _How I Hate Loving Oliver Wood_ by Kira Ashkelon, if you haven't yet read them. They're both done in _Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging_-style (a book I have yet but definitely desire to read.

Blahblahblah. Enough from me! Here is your chapter.

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Sunday afternoon found the Gryffindor locker room in a bustle of excited activity as the seven Quidditch players prepared for their scrimmage. Darcy, who had taken her lunch on the pitch as she drew out a few last plays—she often got bursts of inspiration before games—rested now on the room's raised platform, watching her teammates get ready. Though her gaze followed around the scarlet-and-gold-clad players, her mind wandered elsewhere, as had become common practice for her as of late.

Unsurprisingly, her thoughts were of Kotter and Oliver. _Do I ever think of anything else these days?_ she mused to herself, as she reached back to braid her long gold hair. Kotter had behaved all the previous night and into the next morning, but her intuition was still unsettled by her boyfriend, yet another occurrence that seemed to be a regular part of her life.

None of their friends had said anything yesterday when Kotter had walked back into the Three Broomsticks with a swollen jaw. Neither he nor Darcy had offered any explanation, and he'd gone to see Madam Pomfrey upon their return to the school. The only reminder of their fight had been healed in a matter of minutes, but the rest of the Quidditch team continued to watch their famous couple with concern—well, concern for Darcy, suspicion for Kotter. At some point or another over the course of Saturday night, all five of Darcy's other teammates had approached her to ask if she was okay. Only Brian had gotten the full story.

Of all those to check up on her, she felt worst about lying to Oliver. Poor, sweet Oliver, whose only concern was her happiness and welfare, and she couldn't even tell him the truth, as it revolved too closely around him. _Poor, poor Oliver,_ she thought again, finishing a French braid down one side of her head and switching to the other. _Innocent Oliver. Kind Oliver. Sexy Oliver. Loveable Oliver_…

"Shut up, you," she hissed at the voice, which giggled infuriatingly back at her.

"What?" demanded Keely, who'd been passing by as the captain had spoken. "I was just telling you the truth! The stadium's almost full, I was just out there!"

Darcy stared at her, confused. "You were talking to me?"

For a second the Beater looked annoyed, but then worry swept over her features. "Are you sure you're okay, DC? You've not been yourself since Hogsmeade yesterday…" She sent a suddenly venomous look over her shoulder where Kotter sat oiling his arm guards. "You are absolutely positive he didn't do anything to you…? Because if he did, I swear by Merlin he will never be able to sit down the same way again…"

Despite her troubled thoughts, the blonde had to smile. "I'm okay, Keely, I promise you. But thanks anyway for having my back, sistah." She reached out and locked hands with her friend, a gesture of support and assurance that satisfied both.

"I've got to go lace up my pads," said Keely, nodding toward her dressing room, "and get ready to bust some Ravenclaw heads."

"All right, girl. Just remember, save the worst of your wrath for Slytherin, huh?"

Keely gave her hair a toss and flashed the Quidditch captain a sassy smirk. "Honey, you underestimate just how much wrath I possess."

Laughter broke over Darcy as the Scottish Beater strode off to her dressing room. The blonde had to marvel at the remarkable people that were her friends; she knew that was part of the reason she hadn't yet been broken by Kotter's possessiveness. As strong as her own will proved to be, it was often the support of her friends that kept her going through the days.

A glance at her watch indicated five minutes until they were due on the field. She stood and was giving the laces of her protective gear a last tightening when Loren burst into the locker room, panting as though he'd run the whole way. "Ze pitch, it iz insane!" he announced, swiping a hand across his sweat-soaked brow. "Ze stadium iz filled _avec tout l'ecôle_!"

"I take it that means it's full?" Darcy queried of Brian as the male Beater walked by.

"You got it, girlfriend. I guess everybody just couldn't wait till November for the actual season to start." He shrugged, thoughtfully eyeing his club, which he'd just finished oiling. "Or maybe they just can't wait another month to see the Quidditch Queen back on her broom."

The captain sighed, annoyed. "Don't make me kill you, Brian."

"Hey, it was just a thought." For a second time he shrugged. "Maybe it's actually Keeper Boy here they're looking for." Brian caught Oliver with an arm around the neck as the fourth-year passed and gave him a brotherly punch to the shoulder. "Which is just fine with me, because Wood here's gonna show 'em how we kick ass Gryffindor style. Right, Wood?"

"Um, sure!" Oliver returned with an amused smile.

Brian gave his back a hard slap, knocking the Keeper forward a step. "That's what I like to hear! Five minutes left, right DC?"

Darcy consulted her watch. "Righto."

"_Sweet_. Think I've got just enough time to buff this thing again…" He wandered off to find a chamois cloth for his much-beloved Beater's club while the Seeker and Keeper exchanged amused glances.

"I think that thing will fall apart one of these days," she mused.

"Wouldn't doubt it." Oliver laughed, and joined her on the cool wooden floor. She shot him an attractive smile.

"So what do you think, Ollie? You nervous?"

He considered for a moment, then shook his head. "No, not really. For some reason, I feel totally confident about today. I don't know if it's that we're playing Ravenclaw… or if it's just you make me—make _us all_ feel so confident, like we're the best team in the world." He flushed a bit at the slip of his own tongue.

"That's because we _are_ the best team in the world," she replied in complete seriousness.

Oliver smiled, rose to his feet, and offered a hand to Darcy, pulling her easily off the ground. "You know, when you say it, I think I actually believe it," he admitted, and tugged playfully at the girl's twin braids. "I also think it's time we hit the field, you know?"

"I _do_ know," she laughed, and to the Gryffindor team as a whole, she announced, "All right, guys; it's go time!"

***

Gliding just inches above the grassy pitch, Darcy lay stretched out along the length of her Nimbus, with only her legs locked around the stick to keep her on her broom. Both arms were extended before the girl as she sped after the wildly fleeing Snitch. Above and all around her, the Quidditch stadium was drowned in cheers as spectators anxiously watched the field.

Her fingertips grazed over the cool golden ball, and seconds later, she held the struggling thing in her grasp. The Seeker sighed; it was just too easy. They'd only been playing for thirty minutes, and the past twenty had involved only her in pursuit of the Snitch—the Ravenclaw Seeker had succumbed to the Wronski Feint early in the game.

Straightening up on her broom, she hovered back up into the air, the Snitch extended for all to see. A collective groan came from Ravenclaw and their supporters while the rest cheered for Gryffindor's victory. The final score was announced: 210 to 30.

"Geez, _that_ didn't last long," commented Keely as she flew up alongside the captain. "I only got to knock two people off their brooms!"

"Listen to the crowd though; I've never heard them so noisy," Brian interjected as he joined his teammates. "It wasn't even a real season game! It's not like we won any points for the House or anything." He paused, considered, then amended, "Well, I guess that's not _entirely_ true. McGonagall _did_ give us thirty points for leadership and initiative…"

"But Flitwick gave Ravenclaw thirty too, for accepting the offer," Toby pointed out. All seven scarlet-robed players were now gathered together on the ground, waiting for the Ravenclaw team to regroup and meet them centerfield for the customary good-sportsmanship post-game handshake. As they filed past the Ravenclaws in their blue and silver robes, the two captains were the last to shake.

Evan Rockford smiled good-naturedly at Darcy. "Not half bad, Reed, for only a month's worth of practice. Your new Keeper's a real sharp one, too."

"Thanks, Rock. Sorry I crashed-and-burned your Seeker, by the way."

The Ravenclaw laughed. "Don't get _too_ cocky yet, your Royal Quidditch Highness. Just wait till the season begins. We'll see who's still smirking after we beat your pink-wearing asses."

"It's _scarlet_, not pink," she shot back, and grinned. "You're starting to smell a little ripe there, Rock—think it's time _you_ hit the showers."

"Right back at you, Reed," replied the blue-clad captain, and the two teams parted and headed away to their respective locker rooms.

Darcy found her team waiting for her when she entered the room, and received a welcoming round of applause while she eyed them all with weary skepticism. "What? I didn't tear another hole in my pants, did I?" she demanded, immediately checking her uniform for any embarrassingly-located rips. She still remembered all too well the game against Slytherin two years previous when she'd played the majority of the match with her bikini-style blue silk panties on full display to the crowd.

"DC, you're paranoid," said Keely with a laugh, throwing one of her shin guards at the captain. "We're just trying to show our Seeker that we appreciate her job well done."

"Oh, don't you _even_," the blonde countered, shooting the female Beater and all the rest of her teammates a sharp glare. "I don't want any congratulations, okay? Because they all go to _you_ guys, I'm serious. I am so totally blown away with you all right now. I mean, I know it wasn't exactly a _hard_ match, but you were _all_ incredible! I'm so proud of you guys!"

Modest protests met her praise as they all sat down to strip off their pads and robes.

"I'm serious though," Darcy added as she loosened the laces of her shoes. "You guys played like World Cup champs. I have absolutely no comments or suggestions about your playing style today—which, as you know, is like a solar eclipse, happening about one every fifty years."

The team chuckled at their captain's own admission to her desire for perfection. "So do something else that only happens once a lifetime and give us some compliments then," Keely hinted through the material of her uniform sweater as she slipped it over her head, revealing a pale gray t-shirt beneath.

"What, you think you need an ego trip, Beater Girl?" the blonde laughed. "Nuh-uh, you don't get _anything_, and do you know why you don't get anything? This is why." She stripped off her uniform sweater to reveal an immense black bruise that spanned the entirety of her left shoulder as well as a portion of her back, though the full damage was partially hidden by the blue tank top she wore. "Yeah, you were trying to be a hotshot and show off for the good-looking Ravenclaw Beater with the Bludger Backbeat—which, I will give you credit for, is a very difficult move and you pulled it off nicely. But you didn't do a very good job of _aiming_ the Bludger _after_ you hit it."

Keely snorted, obviously amused. "Sorry about that, DC," she said, and reached out to give the injury a swift poke. "Does it hurt?"

"Ouch!" Darcy slapped her friend's hand away and rubbed gingerly at her bruise. "Yes it hurts, you dumbass! Christ…" She attempted to flex her shoulder, and gave a slight hiss of pain, the true depth of the injury at last making itself known as her muscles began to grow stiff.

Oliver, seated closest to her, brushed soft fingertips across her injured fleshed as he demanded, "Are you okay? Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey?"

Gazing into his guileless chocolate eyes, she had the sudden crazy urge to laugh at the expression of horrified concern on his young face. Instead she replied, "Nah, I'm fine, hun. Trust me, this is just a scratch in comparison to _some_ of the hits I've taken. Besides, I've got something I have to say to _you_, Mr. Wood, and that is… that I was totally impressed by your performance today. In fact, my wonderful Wonder Boy, you did such a great job for your first match that I've decided we can skip this Monday's and Wednesday's practices. And your teammates can thank _your_ skill for that."

His features melted from apprehension to delight during the course of her words, and now he blushed as Brian, Keely, and the rest thanked him with hearty slaps to his back.

Darcy showed her own appreciation by grinning broadly at him before slowly rising to her feet, careful not to over-flex her tender shoulder. Gathering her shed uniform and pads, she announced, "Okay, you prats, everybody hit the showers. We've got a couple hours left till dinner and I officially give you my permission to screw off."

She left them to their own devices and retreated to her dressing room, where she performed a quick cleansing charm on her uniform. Then she sat down in her plush red chair, clad only in her blue top and panties, closed her eyes, and let her mind fall quiet for the moment, existing only in the sensations of her body as it came down off a natural high. The rush of blood through her veins, each slow inhale and exhale of oxygen, glowing warmth throbbing in her muscles; she drank it all in greedily. When at last glittering azure eyes flickered open, their mistress was at peace, and far happier than she'd been in some weeks' time.

With towel and toiletries rolled beneath one arm, she emerged to find an empty locker room and only the light trickling sound of running water from the showers. She entered the white tiled room and it's lone occupant, Oliver, stared curiously back at her over the top of his privacy barrier before blushing and ducking down. Through the mostly-opaque barrier walls, she could see by his shadow he was attempting to cover himself.

The Seeker laughed. "Don't worry, Oliver," she said, "no one can see anything more than your outline through those things." She stepped up to one of the showers herself and activated the barrier, screening her own body up to the shoulders. "See?"

Blushing more fiercely at his naiveté, he answered, "Oh. Yeah," and returned uneasily to bathing himself.

For her part, she more or less ignored the Keeper's presence as she peeled off the last of her clothing, tossing the garments over the barrier with one sleek, honey-fleshed arm. She then flicked on the faucet and stepped beneath the steamy hot water, wincing slightly as it pelted her injured shoulder. From the corner of her eye, she could see Oliver watching with interest.

Without warning, the devil in Darcy made itself known, and a sinfully delicious idea popped into her wicked little mind. She _was_ allowed to have fun, after all, and she wouldn't be hurting anyone… The opportunity was simply to golden for her to resist.

Mischief quirked up the corners of her lips as elaborately, she plunged herself beneath the shower's warm flow, keeping in mind that Oliver could see the outline of her water-slicked body. Slowly, sensually, she explored her hands over the delectable contours of her own form—smoothing up lean calves and toned thighs, gliding over the flat muscled wall of her stomach, curving around the gentle swell of her breasts, and at last sleeking back her gold hair that now hung down the length of her back.

"Mmm…" the purr crept deeply up from her throat, "this is _exquisite_…"

From beside her, a thick gulp could be heard, followed by his slightly trembling voice, "Y-yeah, it's, uh, great t-to be, ah, clean."

Her reply was another dangerously erotic moan as she massaged a fragrant lavender-scented shampoo through the length of her locks. Instantly the perfume filled the air, and was joined a few short moments later by the mouth-watering aroma of freshly-baked cookies, emanating from the body wash she lathered across her silken flesh. Oliver couldn't suppress a desirous whimper as the girl again rubbed over her curvaceous physique.

Darcy stifled a playful giggle, and dared sneak a look over at her male counterpart to witness the effects of her work. A noticeable… _growth_ had appeared on his outlined torso, though the Keeper was obviously trying his best to conceal it.

To compound her performance, she threw in another low growl, and grinned when she discovered her own pulse was racing at the result of her actions. _Hmm_… came an intrigued voice through her mind, _it seems that turning Oliver on in fact yields results for **me** as well_… She couldn't help a chuckle as she sluiced the sugary-sweet soap off her frame.

She spent five more seductive minutes caressing and ministering to her slick flesh, which glimmered as though oiled in the low light of the shower room, ever aware of the increasing pants and mewls of the fourth-year. White-knuckled he clutched at the edge of his privacy barrier, not even bothering to mask his wide-eyed stare.

The final drop of water trickled down her muscled back as she shut off the shower and proceeded to dry herself with graceful, long swipes of her white terrycloth towel, which she then wrapped around her body. At last she deactivated the barrier and, stooping to quickly gather her shed clothing and shampoo bottles, she purred, "See you later, Mr. Wood," and departed the shower room with a triumphant smile on her face.

"You know you're evil, right?"

Darcy jumped, startled at the voice that sounded directly beside her ear as she stepped into the locker room once more. She spun and glared fiercely at Brian, who had a strange look occupying his features. "Don't _do_ that!" she snapped.

"He's gonna have blue balls for like, a month," the Beater continued as though she'd never spoken. "Probably longer, since it was _you_, DC."

"Oh, stop!" she said, annoyed.

Innocently, he raised his hands to his chest. "Hey, I'm just telling it like it is. You've got to be some kind of evil genius mastermind, Darcy, pulling what you just did. Christ, it was hard enough for _me_ to keep cool; I had to keep imagining Marcus Flint in a thong. That kid stood no chance against your sex-tacular bod and you _knew_ it. Pure evil." Brian grinned.

Allowing a smirk of her own, she acceded, "That was pretty naughty, wasn't it?"

He nodded as the blonde giggled impishly, and with a smirk still fixed to his face, he asked her suddenly, "Why do you lead him on like that?"

"Beg pardon?" she asked, continuing to grin herself, though the mirth was quickly leaking from her features.

"You heard me, Darcy." An instant, startling sobriety hardened his words. "Why do you do things like that? You're completely leading him on."

Taken totally off-guard by her friend's shift in demeanor, she attempted a flustered response. "I-I don't… _lead_ him on, Brian, I mean… I have no idea what-what you're talking about!" She laughed weakly. "I mean, i-is this supposed to be some sort of joke?"

Studying the barely-clothed Quidditch captain, Brian gave a sigh, much in the fashion of a parent whose unruly teenage child simply refused to listen. Before she could react, he took her by the elbow, and pulled her into the sanctity of her own dressing room, securely locking the door behind them and muttering a quick silencing spell to encompass the tiny room. Then he rounded on Darcy like a predator. "Okay, this has gone on far too long. It's time for you to answer some questions for me, Darcy, and no more bullshit. Now would you like to tell me you insist on leading Oliver Wood on, even though you've got a boyfriend?"

She said nothing, only stared back at him, her sapphire eyes wide.

"Okay. Fine. You don't want to answer that. Okay. How about this: why do you keep going back to Kotter over and over again? And don't tell me it's because he treats you well, or because you love him, because we _both_ know that's a lie."

"Why are you doing this?" she blurted out, tears pooling on her lower lashes.

"Because it needs to be done," he replied coolly. "Are you going to answer my questions or not?" Though her chin quivered as she fought her tears, Darcy set her jaw and glared defiantly at him in silence. Brian sighed again, as if pained. "So you want to do it the hard way. Fine, if this is the way it's got to be. I'll _tell_ you why you do the things you do, Darcy. It's because you _need_ to be in control."

She barked a laugh. "You are _so_ far from the truth," she sneered.

"Oh am I?" he replied, his gaze boring into the girl until she looked away. "Because I think I'm right on. Would you like to know why?"

"Please, astound me with your _profound_ psychological analysis of my life." Her voice was laced with bitter cruelty, a tone she'd never before used with her best friend, and one which surprised the girl greatly.

Brian was quiet for a moment, apparently as stunned as Darcy herself. Then in a low, calm voice, he said, "I've known you for seven years, Darce. Seven. Since that first day at King's Cross, when out of all those hundreds of other kids, you were the only other one who didn't talk with a funny accent. You've been my best friend for seven years, and I've come to know a few things about you. I understand that a lot of things in your life have been out of your control. Your intelligence, which ended up forcing you into the position of Prefect, and then Head Girl. Your beauty, which gets you much more attention than I know you're comfortable with. Your skills on the Quidditch field, which have gained you both popularity _and_ pressure, as now they all look to you to win for them. And, of course, your family, who has more money than most of us could dream to see in a lifetime. None of those things are your fault, DC, and I know you've tried to hide them as best as you can, but some things just can't be concealed. Or controlled. So you had to find something you _could_ control, and you found Kotter."

"But _he_ controls _me_!" she cried, twin rivers of tears at last coursing down her cheeks.

"Yes, it does seem that way, doesn't it? To the world, he controls you, but in truth, _you're_ the one controlling the relationship. You get to choose what everyone else gets told about what happens, what everyone else believes. For five years, you've had the _whole_ _school_, not to mention your respective families, convinced that you and Kotter are the happiest, most perfect couple on the face of the earth. Look how you've fooled them all! How you've _controlled_ what they know! But now things are starting to fall apart, aren't they? People are starting to see the truth, and your control is slowly slipping, especially with Oliver."

Each new barrage of his words hit her like a tidal wave, and Darcy sank slowly to the floor, folding in own herself like a scared child. "Oliver…" she murmured softly.

"Yeah, Oliver. He's screwed things up pretty royally for you, hasn't he? Made you see what you were missing by giving in to Kotter all the time."

A sob choked its way out of her throat. "Please no more…" she pleaded.

Brian knelt down, and took her hands within his own. "I've got to finish this Darcy, for both our sakes. Because I've known you too long to let this keep going on. I mean, I _love_ you, babes, and it _kills_ me to see you like this! I remember back before Kotter, and how happy and easy-going you used to be, but he's sucked all that out of you over the course of just a few years! I can only imagine what'll happen if this goes on much longer!" He'd become frustrated, and his grip on her fingers was tightening painfully. "Christ, Darcy, you're _so_ beautiful! Of all the guys in the world you could have, why did you have to pick the one who would treat you worst? Who would never be able to see how… how… _amazing_ you really are? Who would only ever look at you as a fancy possession, something to be displayed and polished, but never loved?"

Her body shook as she cried, harder than she had in a very long time, and through her tear-blurred vision, she could see his face, nearly agonized with his concern for her. Despite hitching sobs, she managed to whisper, "_I-I d-don't know w-w-what to do_…"

"Oh babes. I can't tell you that. The only thing I _can_ tell you is that I've seen the way you look at him—at Oliver. I _know_ what you're feeling… and I know he feels it, too. And I also know how terrifying it must seem for you right now, stuck between what your heart wants and what your mind wants. Because, although you may control Oliver right now, by feeding his affections for you and stringing him along, in the long run, you know he's always going to be governed by his own free will, whether you're in the picture or not."

She gave a low, long keening wail, burying her face in her hands as her tears came harder yet. Slowly Brian stood.

"Right now it's all on you, Darcy, and what you're prepared to do. The choices are all yours. If you want Oliver, you've got him. If you want Kotter, you've got _him_, though I know that's not what you want. I always thought it would take something big, and likely terrible, on Kotter's behalf before you finally chose to break from him. It hasn't happened yet, but I get the sense that's it's going to be soon, and it's going to cause you _all_ more heartache than that bastard's worth. But you've got to do what you've got to do. Just remember that I've got your back, always, no matter what." He leaned low and kissed the top of her gold-curled head. "I've got to go, Darcy. I'll see you."

And then he left her on the floor of her dressing room, clad only in her towel, crumpled and crying like a broken child's toy.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Yay for long chapters! I'm really proud of this, especially Brian and Darcy's conversation, and I hope you all enjoyed it as well. And I have a challenge for you, my dearest readers and reviewers: I'd love to be able to hit 100+ reviews before Chapter Twenty, so tell your friends, encourage new readers and reviewers! I also promise to R/R the story(stories) of anyone who asks me to do so. Of course I'm _NOT_ going to stop writing this story until I get my hundred—yeah, right, that's funny. Me, stop writing this story? Hahahaha! But I know a lot of people do that though, and I think it's foolish, as you're only hurting your readers. Again, thanks a million times to everyone who is reading, reviewing, and hopefully enjoying this story.

My love and respect to you all! *~Adele~*


	17. Strike Two

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Seventeen

Author's Note: Did anyone catch my little slip in Chapter Sixteen? I said that captain of Ravenclaw Evan Rockford's robes were blue and _silver_, and any good HP fan will know that that _should_ be blue and _bronze_, the Ravenclaw House colors! Bad me! I caught it about five minutes after I published it, so I decided to let it go and see if anyone noticed. Oh well! Cat's out of the bag.

As promised, here is Chapter Seventeen. Guess what's coming up next? Yep, you got it, the big Masquerade Ball! Are you excited? I am. Well, of course I am, I get to write it… but anyway. I have to work tomorrow night, so I don't know if Eighteen will be up by then, but I will estimate Wednesday evening at the latest, since I don't think I can go much longer without writing that chapter. Ahh! I'm so giddy!

Here's Seventeen for you, anyway. Hooray for exciting future chapters!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

With all the prim formality of a businessman, Percy Weasley politely knocked on the door to the seventh-year-girl's dorm, and waited until a female voice responded, "It's open!" before allowing himself to enter the room. He found Keely sitting behind her desk, finishing her homework by the light of a candle. She glanced curiously up at him.

"Need something, Weasley?" she queried.

"Ah, yes. Do you know where Darcy is?" he responded, shooting a quick gaze around the dorm. "They told me in the common room she was up here."

Keely snorted. "Oh, you mean the Bad Mood Blonde? Yeah, she's in here." She turned toward the Seeker's bed, around which the curtains had been tightly shut. "Hey, DC, you've got a guest." When no response was forthcoming, the brunette picked up a miniature Quaffle off her desk and chucked it into the curtains. "Darcy! Get with it!"

A moment later, a crack appeared in the wall of scarlet and the soft oval of Darcy's face appeared, accompanied by light music. "What is it?"

"Hello, Darcy," said Percy, moving across the room to meet her. "Mind if I speak to you?"

She contemplated him for a moment, then glanced back into the confines of her bed. Finally she drew the curtains wide enough to admit him. "Yeah, c'mon in. Just finishing up a few things here." She waited till he'd crawled up onto her bed, then smoothed the curtains shut behind him. Inside, the music of a band Percy didn't know filled the air, and she silenced it with a quick flick of her wand. "Sorry about that. I've got a silencing spell on so I don't bother Keely. What can I do for you, my auburn-haired amigo?"

"Well…" he took a moment to arrange himself atop her cherry-red comforter, settling for a cross-legged pose as Darcy herself had taken. Then he noticed what she'd been doing before his interruption. "I didn't know you did needlepoint, Darcy."

"Just sewing a few things," she replied, and held up for him a pale blue silk vest that she was putting a last few stitches into. "It hit me earlier today that it was Wednesday already, and with the ball tomorrow night, I'd best finish Kotter's costume."

Nodding agreeably, he remarked, "A wise decision."

"So what did you need to talk to me about?" As she spoke, she went to work with her wand, and for a moment, Percy watched as fine silver string spun from its tip, meeting up with the fabric of the vest and hemming the loose edges.

At last he shook his head, clearing his momentary lapse, and said, "Ah. Yes. I was just wondering when you were going to tell me what's been bothering you these past two weeks."

Darcy started, and for a moment the silver string faltered, but then she laughed. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Perce."

"Oh, of course, you do, Darcy, really! Do you think so little of my intelligence that I wouldn't notice? Since after the Ravenclaw scrimmage you've been completely… well, out of sorts, I guess, is the best description. I mean, you smile, but it doesn't touch your eyes, and you laugh, but it sounds flat and forced. And you barely eat anything, unless you've been hoarding food up your robe sleeves and eating later when no one's watching. To be frank, I'm quite worried about you, and I'm not the only one, either. Oliver is practically beside himself with thoughts that he's said or done something to offend you in some way. He's under the impression that you're angry with him."

"I'm not angry with him!" she protested, her expression caught between amusement and irritation. "Why on earth would he think that?"

"Perhaps because you've stopped _speaking_ to him?" Percy suggested, and when a look of surprise slipped over her visage, he added, "Yes, I _have_ noticed, Darcy. Observation is one of my chief skills, as you've pointed out so many times. You're barely speaking to anyone anymore, but most particularly avoiding Oliver. I don't think you've said more than five words to him the past three days." He looked her square in the eye. "_Has_ he done something wrong?"

Instantly she replied, "No! Of course not! If he sent you here to ask me if I was mad at him, then you can go back right now and tell him he's being completely ridiculous!"

"Oliver hasn't asked me to do anything. In fact, he tried to convince me _not_ to come speak with you tonight. He says that if and when you want to talk, you'll do so, and that I shouldn't push you. But he's also worried that _someone_ might have said… or done… something to you."

Percy, of course, meant Kotter, but it was Brian's voice instead that was brought to her mind, echoing the intense conversation they'd had almost two weeks ago. His words had haunted her since that day, assaulting her during every waking hour, and often in dreams. She was uncertain what bothered her more—the fact that it had all been true, or the idea that the choice Brian had mentioned was indeed one she would soon have to make. Suddenly she found fresh tears threatening to spill from her eyes, and she glanced quickly away from Percy, but the fourth-year's gaze was simply too keen.

"Darcy…? What's the matter?" he demanded, reaching to touch her arm.

"Nothing!" she answered, a bit too forcefully. Softening her tone, she corrected, "I'm fine. Don't worry about it." She sighed heavily, blinked away the last tears, and looked down at the silk vest in her lap. She produced a weary smile. "Well. I think I'm finished. I've got to go ask Kotter his sizes so I can shorten or lengthen things, if I need to." She raised from her bed and reached to draw open the curtains.

Percy protested, "But Darcy—"

"Thanks for stopping by, Perce, and thanks for your concern, but I'm fine. Tell Oliver I'll talk to him later this evening. I'll see you." She jerked wide the scarlet curtains and leapt from her bed, her sewn garments folded under one arm as she disappeared out of the dorm room.

Still seated at her desk, Keely turned to smile in commiseration with the stunned Weasley brother. "She wouldn't talk to you either, huh?"

***

Darcy jogged swiftly down the stairs to the common room, carefully putting Oliver, Percy, and even Brian out of her mind. She would deal with those things later; the only thing she needed worry about at the moment was sizing Kotter's outfit for the Masquerade Ball. She found the male Gryffindor seated in his customary chair in front of the fireplace, brooding over a nasty bit of Divinations homework.

He barely looked up as she slipped into the seat beside him. "Hey, whatcha doing?"

"What's it _look_ like?" he snapped, and scribbled something irritably down onto a sheet of parchment. "Is there something you need, Darcy, because this is due tomorrow morning…"

Glaring at him in barely-contained annoyance, she replied icily, "Don't get all snarky with me, buddy. I haven't done anything that deserves your bad attitude, so take it down a notch, will you?" Kotter's response was a disenchanted grunt. "All right. Can I please have a brief moment your Highness's precious time then?"

The Chaser sighed in resignation, put down his quill, and turned to stare at her condescendingly as though she were a whiny child demanding his attention. "What, Darcy?"

"I need you to tell me your sizes, so I can finish your outfit for tomorrow night," she said, and held up the costume she'd assembled for him. In addition to the pale blue vest was a white button-down workshirt, similar to the ones they wore beneath their school uniforms, but with black buttons instead of white and black velvet strip sewn into the shortened collar. A pair of glimmering silver pants completed the ensemble. "What do you think?"

His expression changed at the sight of the costume, and suddenly he was no longer meeting her gaze, rather studying his paper as if searching for errors. "I'm sure it's nice and all, baby…"

"But what?" she said suspiciously, picking up on his unspoken thoughts.

"But… well…" and then he mumbled something beneath his breath that didn't come close to being decipherable. He peeked at her uncertainly from the corner of his eye. "Okay? Don't be mad at me or anything, I just don't feel like it—"

"Like what?!"

"Like… _going to the Ball_," he muttered, this time slightly more audible.

Darcy felt a surge of anger flood through her body. "What?! Why, Kotter, why in the name of Merlin did you wait till now to tell me? Why are you doing this anyway? This was supposed to be something we could do together, as a couple! You know, as we _are_ trying to salvage this pathetic thing we call a relationship."

"You're getting loud, Darcy," he admonished, a touch of ire darkening his own face. "And our relationship doesn't _need_ any salvaging. We are _fine_. And if I say there's no reason for us to go to the Masquerade Ball, then we don't go to the Masquerade Ball, plain and simple."

"I'm the Head Girl, not to mention the Gryffindor Prefect, not to mention the Quidditch team captain and Seeker, Kotter. I can't _not_ go."

"Yes you can. It's easy. You just _don't go_." He slammed shut the book he'd been working from, attempting to physically signify the end of their argument. "We'll just stay here tomorrow night and do something together, okay?"

For a moment, she almost agreed. She almost opened her mouth to say yes, and give in again to the demands of her lover she did not love. She would deal with her intense disappointment of missing the Ball, and somehow find a way to placate all the friends that would be angry with her for not showing. She would do things just exactly as she'd always done them—her way, in control. But then a strange voice was suddenly speaking, and strongly and clearly, it said, "No."

Kotter's head snapped up sharply. "What did you say?"

The voice, she discovered, was her own, and again it stated, "No. No, we will not stay here and do something together tomorrow night. Because I am going to the Masquerade. And I'm not going alone either." She stared at him with a hardness in her gaze. "Do you understand?"

Something like shock registered in the male Gryffindor's gaze as he stared back at his girlfriend, and it took him a moment before he could manage, "I understand just fine, but I don't think _you_ do. I said you weren't going, and even if I _did_ decide to let you go, don't think for a minute I'd let you go with somebody else."

"Well guess what, pal, that's what you're doing," she snapped instantly, an inner-dwelling fierceness released now within her. "And you know who I'm going with?"

He could predict her answer. "Don't you dare say it."

"Oliver Wood. I'm going to have a fabulous time with him, and you can sit up here in the common room and brood all you want. And don't bother trying to change your mind now, as you've already made your true feelings painfully clear."

Immediately he began to protest, "No, Darcy, you can_not_…" but then he stopped, and a strange expression that could have almost been smugness washed over his features. Smartly he set his jaw and said, "Fine. You know what? Fine. Go ahead and go with your perfect little Keeper boy. Have a great time. I could give less of a damn what you decided to do. Whatever." And with that he reopened his textbook and proceeded to completely ignore her.

Darcy didn't wait to spring to her feet and storm off, headed directly up for the fifth-year-boys' dorm. Unlike Percy, she didn't bother to knock, slamming the door open against the wall as she entered. At his desk, the aforementioned redhead gaped up at her in shock, while the room's other occupant, who had been stretched out across his bed in a red tank top and loose grey cotton running pants, jerked up into a sitting position at her appearance. Before either could speak, she said, "Hey, Perce, could you give me a second to talk to Oliver?" When he didn't move, she added, "_Alone_."

"Oh… oh! Yes, of course. I'll, ah, just go have seat in the common room." He gathered up his books, and with one last look at the blonde, he left, drawing the door shut behind him.

Despite his surprise, the Keeper still had a delighted smile for the girl as he rose to greet her. "Darcy, hey. Percy said you might… well, I had hoped you would… come and talk to me this evening. Is everything all right?"

At his invitation, she sat down beside him on his bed, curling her feet up beneath her in catlike fashion. Gazing into his soft brown eyes, she found herself grinning as she replied, "Yeah. Yeah, things are good. I've, ah, I've got a question to ask you, though, and I really hope your answer is yes."

Oliver chuckled. "Well, I can't make any promises, but I can bet it will be."

"Great. In that case…" she drew a deep breath, released, and with confidence she asked him, "Would you like to go to the Masquerade Ball with me… as my date?"

For an uncomfortably long moment, he stared at her in stunned silence, studying every last centimeter of her face as if trying to determine the punch line to the joke she surely had to be telling. But in the depths of her sapphire eyes, he found only honesty, if not a touch of anxiety, and at last he said, "You mean you actually are asking me to go with you to the Ball? Like you and me together, me holding your arm, and slow-dancing with you, and being by your side all night long?"

"You don't have to be my side _all_ night long," she said with a giggle. "I'm sure we'll both have to go to the bathroom at some point."

Secretly the Keeper pinched himself, and when Darcy failed to fade away into the canopy of his bed, as she usually did in his dreams, he laughed. "So this isn't like a joke or anything. You're actually asking me to the Ball?"

She feigned a second of deep thought, then nodded. "Yep, that's the general consensus."

"I—wow. Um, I don't… I-I… well, you _know_ I'd love to Darcy, I won't even pretend that I haven't been privately wishing this for weeks… but what about Kotter? Why isn't he going with you? I mean, I don't want you to get into any trouble with him, anymore than I want to be on his bad side myself…" he trailed off, and glanced uncertainly at the door, like he expected Kotter to burst in at any moment.

Darcy drew his attention back to her with a soft hand placed on either side of his face. "You don't need to worry about him, Oliver. Kotter refused to go with me, so I told him I was going to ask you to be my date. To be honest with you, I don't think he even cares—"

"Oh, he cares. It's _you_, Darcy. How could _anyone_ dating you not care?"

A smile drew itself delicately across her full rose petal lips. "You're too sweet, Ollie. I don't deserve to go to the Ball with someone as sweet as you. But if you'll have me, I'll gladly walk into the Great Hall tomorrow night with my arm curled through yours."

With much gravity, he said, "Only one problem."

The Seeker felt her stomach drop. He had a date. Of course he had a date, why didn't she even think of it? Just because he had a crush on her, that didn't mean he was going to drop his interest in _all_ women. She'd been absolutely foolish to think she could barge up here and just demand he go with her… Fighting the strong desire to crawl into a hole and die, she mustered all the courage she possessed and answered brightly, "What's that?"

Leaning into the blonde, he let his lips graze against the delicate flesh of her ear as he'd done so long ago in the common room, and he whispered, "I don't have a costume."

Darcy blew out a relieved sigh, an exquisite dizziness washing over her brain from both lack of oxygen and the intoxicating scent of Oliver's flesh that was now so near. The urge to reach out and ruffle her fingers through the short, silky lengths of his hair was nearly overwhelming, and only with the most supreme of efforts did she manage to remain still, only gazing into the enchanting depths of his chocolate eyes. She wished to touch the Keeper, to discover if his own thoughts were anything like hers, but she didn't dare move.

At last some benevolent entity spared the poor girl, and enabled her to locate her intelligence through the swirling mass of impulses and hormones that clouded her brain. "I think I can solve that problem," she said, and revealed the costume still rolled beneath her arm. "I haven't sized it yet, if you want to try it on and see how it fits."

He took the garments from her, reluctantly pulling himself away from Darcy as he stood. "You'll have to close your eyes while I change," he said with a slight smile.

Obediently, she followed his request, though she got the feeling he expected her to peek, which she did only once. She caught a quick glimpse of a defined, muscular chest and abdomen, broad, sun-freckled shoulders, and strong, sleek arms, and that was enough to send her pulse racing and force her to snap her eyes shut again. After all, she _did_ still _technically_ have a boyfriend…

"Okay. You can open them," he said finally, and Darcy gazed up at him through long fluttering lashes. Suddenly she understood the fourth-year's speechlessness the day she'd showed him her own dress. In the ensemble she'd created, he was stunningly handsome, the pale blue fabric of the vest set off against the glowing tan of his skin. He'd left the top few buttons of his shirt undone, revealing again that oh-so-delectable chest that she insanely desired to press her lips against.

Instead, she dug into the pocket of the black cotton yoga capris she wore and produced the last touch of the costume: a pearl cross, hung on a thick black cord. She drew up lightly behind the boy, flexing onto her toes to stretch her arms around his neck, and gently she tied the piece in place. Then she stepped back to look at him.

"Almost perfect," she mused, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Just give me a minute…" she produced her wand, and with a few quick waves, the clothing fit Oliver perfectly.

"What do you think? Do I look angelic enough to counter your devilish nature, Miss Reed?" he teased, giving a slight spin so she could take him in at all angles.

She laughed. "I think you need one last touch." Stepping close to him again, she gave her wand a short flick, muttering a few words under her breath, and a soft white glow seemed to suddenly emanate off the Keeper, illuminating the area around him as though his very flesh were alight. He stared, amazed, down at his own hand, as Darcy grinned. "There. Now you are truly an angel, Ollie."

"What about you?" he asked, curiously studying the blonde. "Will you… _glow_ too?"

"Oh, you want to see what I'll be doing tomorrow night?" She pointed her wand at herself, spoke a few more words, and before Oliver's eyes, the mass of her gold hair exploded into loose curls that blazed with all the fiery red brilliance of a setting summer sun. Tendrils of black velvet fabric, that would match both her choker and the strip in his collar, spiraled sporadically through the cascade of curls, and the same way his flesh glowed a soft white, her own radiated an elegant red, though her honey-colored skin remained unchanged. She said, "This'll be me."

Oliver stared at her, taken as always with her absolute beauty. In a near whisper he said, "Man, we're going to blow everyone else away tomorrow night."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

What do you think? Are you guys as anxious for Eighteen as I am? I hope so! As always, thank you all _so much_ for showing me appreciation by reading and reviewing my story, and I mean that from the bottom of my little heart! You guys really are the best; your comments, advice and praise all mean the world to me. Thanks again!

Humbly yours, *~Adele~*


	18. The Long Awaited Masquerade Ball

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Eighteen

Author's Note: Grrr, why is it whenever an important event is about to happen in my writing world, the bloody real world has to intervene?? Between work, friends, sleep, and everything else under the sun, it's taken me a whole week to write this chapter!!! But at least its nice and long, and I'm quite satisfied with the way it turned out. I think you all will like it to, and I would love to hear all your honest reactions in your reviews. Speaking of reviews… Yay!!!! I got my hundred!!! Hundred and one, actually. Special love to **No Name Face**, who submitted my hundredth review to **Fixing to Fly**. Your prize? Chapter Eighteen!

Much love also to everybody who's stuck with me and been so supportive and encouraging with all your reviews. I couldn't have made this far without you, and I _promise_, from the bottom of my little heart, to be much more timely and productive with the rest of my chapters. Thanks so much to my readers and reviewers!! You guys are truly the best. I love you!! *Adele breaks down and sobs dramatically for several minutes* Okay, enough of that. You guys 

are probably ready for some chapter!!

I also have to give a quick reference here to xxChinaDollxx, whose idea she so graciously lent me for the 'Oliver pep-talk' portion of this chapter. You'll see what I mean when you read. ;) Thanks again, xxChinaDollxx, you have my eternal appreciation.

Now, on with the Masquerade…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Ow, ow, _ow_!"

"Keely, dear, you need to stop squirming."

The Beater glared up at her gold-haired healer. "But it hurts!" she hissed through gritted teeth. "It hurts _very_, _very_ much! I don't think you are understanding me here…"

Darcy sighed in slight annoyance. "Yes, I understand that it hurts, but you're only making it worse by squirming! Now _please_ hold still. The less you move, the quicker I can finish, and the sooner this'll be over, okay?" she said logically, and took Keely's silence for a signal of affirmation. Biting down on her lower lip in keen concentration, the blonde returned to her task of removing yet another honey bee stinger embedded in the flesh of Keely's forearm. The wounded girl hissed in pain as Darcy swiftly clamped down on the stinger with a pair of tweezers and plucked it from her skin.

"Please say you'll be done soon!" Keely pleaded, her eyes shut tightly.

"Just a few more…" The seventh-year-turned-surgeon added the removed stinger to the disturbingly large pile that had accumulated on the Prefect's bathroom floor before turning back to her patient. Keely's fist were clenched, white-knuckled, as she waited for the next jolt of pain. To distract her, Darcy queried lightly, "So remind how this happened again?"

"Well—ouch!—I was helping Loren get his costume ready; he wants to go as a beekeeper. And he thought it would be cool to have a swarm of live bees to hover above him to add the effect, so we worked it out that he—ow, bloody hell!—would transfigure a swarm from his bag of Gobstones, and then the second he finished I'd zap them all with a containment spell, so he could control them. Well, it sounded easy enough—"

"In theory," snorted Darcy as she added another stinger to the pile.

Glaring at the captain, Keely opened her mouth to retort until Darcy brandished her tweezers threateningly at the Beater. She settled for an annoyed growl, then continued, "So I got all ready with my containment—ow!—spell and he went ahead and transfigured his Gobstones—but he said the wrong spell! Instead of _Bumblus Expectum_, he said _Bumblus **Expellum**_, and before I could even react—ouch, Darcy, that one was deep!—I had a swarm of angry bees flying straight at me! It took him forever to get them all transfigured back and by that time… well, you can see the results for yourself." She indicted the stung and swollen flesh of her face and forearms.

"Oh sweety, I'm sorry," Darcy commiserated, though she was biting fiercely down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"You know the worst part? I swear Loren did it on purpose! He started laughing as soon as he realized I wasn't dead." The brunette growled again, but out of anger this time rather than pain. In fact, while she'd been talking, Darcy had pulled the last of the bee stingers from Keely's palm and then banished the pile with a wave of her wand.

Stepping back to contemplate her friend, the Seeker announced, "They're all gone."

"How do I look?" asked Keely with a touch of trepidation.

Darcy flinched; the Beater's normally tawny skin had gone pallid beneath the venom of the bees' stingers, and standing out against the pale white flesh were the hundreds of bright red swollen pinpricks that were the sights of the stings themselves. "It's pretty bad," the blonde said truthfully. "Are you sure you don't want me to take you to Madam Pomfrey?"

"I didn't come all the way down here to find you looking like _this_ for nothing." Keely dared a glance in the mirror, and shuddered. "Besides, I trust you more than Pomfrey; she doesn't like me very much, and I'm sure she'd give me the most painful treatment she could concoct. You're probably twice the physician she is, anyway."

Though she appreciated the compliment, Darcy gave a skeptical laugh. "I've only had a year and a half of Magical Medicine classes, Keely, I hardly think I'm a trained professional."

"But I thought that's what you wanted to do after grad this year, right? Get your Wizard Doctor's license?" asked the brunette as she scratched tentatively at her cheek; all the stings had begun to itch violently.

"It _is_, but Mom's been pressuring me to be an Auror, like my father, and I _know_ Daddy would love to have me at the Ministry. They've practically already written up a plaque with my name on it," the blonde explained, rummaging through a bag that contained her personal stash of medical ointments and supplies, filched during various visits to the infirmary and kept for just such occasions. Almost as an afterthought, Darcy added, "Don't scratch, Keely."

The Beater replied testily, "Would you get on with it, then? I feel like my face is about to fall off here…"

"Put this on." Darcy thrust a tube of pale green paste at her friend, who looked at the contents skeptically. "It'll draw the poison out of the stings and help reduce the inflammation. And try not to breathe it, if you can, it smells pretty rotten," she explained, drawing her wand back out of her robes as the Scot began applying the paste to her face and arms.

Keely wrinkled her nose and griped, "Ugh, DC, this smells like the locker room after we've been practicing for five hours on a hot day."

"I know, I know." The Prefect was attempting to ignore the odor herself, drawing shallow breaths through her mouth as she waited for Keely to finish with the paste. When the entirety of her bee-stung skin had been coated, Darcy gave her wand a quick flick at the brunette and muttered, "_Reducio Inflammia_!" Instantly the green ointment disappeared, and beneath it, Keely's skin had returned more or less to its usual appearance, save slight pinpoints of discoloration at the sights of the stings. "How do you feel?"

The Beater turned to examine herself in a mirror. "Much better. Looks a lot better too." She ran a hand over her healed skin. "Looks like I've been out in the sun too long; I'm all freckled. Which, in the long run, is _not_ a good thing… I was going to go as Celestina Warbeck tonight, but I don't think that'll work now…"

Darcy examined the Beater again, and could easily see why. Celestina Warbeck, known as the Singing Sorceress and whose haunting, beautiful tunes were played regularly on the Wizarding Wireless Network, had pale, flawless white skin. Keely's temporarily acquired freckles would look rather awkward indeed.

"What should I do? I don't have a costume now," Keely lamented, a hint of panic creeping into her voice as she regarded the blonde with pleading hazel eyes.

"Calm down, Beater Girl," Darcy said quickly before her friend could fly off into a fit of hysteria. "I'll figure out something here for you, just give me a minute to think, okay?" She plunked herself promptly down on the white marble bathroom floor, her legs drawn to her chest so she could rest her chin on her knees in what she thought of as her 'contemplative' pose.

Only a few seconds of silence had passed before the brunette muttered, "I'm hungry."

Exasperated, the Prefect could only stare up at Keely. At lunch, Professor Dumbledore had advised them all to take on second and third helpings of the meal, if they could, as their dinner would be pushed back an hour and a half to correlate with the beginning of the Masquerade Ball. Keely, of course, had taken this advice quite liberally, and while Darcy was only able to consume a few additional turkey sandwiches and a second slice of pumpkin pie, the Scot had cleared the surrounding area of table of all edible items. That she could _possibly_ be hungry now was beyond astounding to her blonde-haired friend.

"Did you _not_ eat the equivalent of a small water buffalo at lunch, or was I under some sort of Hallucination Spell when I watched you eat a fourth Cornish hen… _whole_?"

"I didn't eat _that_ much, DC," Keely shot back irritably. "I _couldn't_. Half the food they served today was seafood, and you _know_ I haven't been able to eat any sort of seafood since that _terrible_ restaurant when we went to Greece last summer. I swear, I spent the majority of my bloody vacation in our hotel room puking, while you were out flirting with all the surfer boys…"

In the depths of Darcy's distracted mind, a light bulb went on. "That's it!"

Confused, the brunette queried, "What?"

"Surfers!" A light of enthusiasm had come on within the blonde's sapphire eyes, but Keely seemed to be missing the point entirely.

"Yeah, DC, the surfers… don't tell me you don't remember those Greek surfer boys! Merlin, you must've had about twenty of them just tailing you around, like a flock of bloody seagulls begging for a treat…" The Beater rolled her eyes in mock disgust. "And they were _all_ bloody gorgeous too! If I hadn't been sick, I would've been out there in my cute little black bikini, and then I would've had my _own_ little harem, but because of you and that _stupid_ seafood restaurant that we just _had_ to go to—"

Before Keely's tangent could proceed on much farther, Darcy quickly interrupted, "_No_, Keely, that's not—grrr, you're making me forget my idea! What I was _trying_ to say was, do you remember what the surfers looked like? Besides bloody gorgeous?"

The Scot stared blankly back at her. "Really blood gorgeous?" she offered.

"_No_. They were all freckled, because of the sun. They looked like you do now. You can go as a sexy surfer girl!" the blonde exclaimed, and a smile crept steadily across Keely's face as Darcy continued to explain, "You can wear that cute black bikini you love so much, and the pair of flowered tiki shorts you got for your birthday. I'll lend you a pair of my flip-flops, and we'll see if we can borrow some seashell jewelry from Alicia Spinnet; she's always wearing stuff like that. I could probably even figure out how to transfigure your broom into a surfboard…"

Keely beamed at her friend as she teased, "Bloody hell, DC, I think you might actually be smart sometimes!"

"I get a good idea once every few years," was Darcy's retort.

The Scot laughed and shook her head. "C'mon then, you prat, and help me get dressed. We've only got an hour until the Ball starts!" Before Darcy could protest, Keely had her by the wrist and was dragging her out of the Prefect's bathroom, up toward Gryffindor Tower.

***

"We are amazing, Keely."

"Oh yeah."

"We are bloody brilliant."

"Mmm-hmm."

"We are _the_ sexiest women on the face of the earth."

"Amen, sister!"

"Can I get a hell yeah for being super hotties?"

"_Hell_ yeah!"

And the two Gryffindor girls dissolved into giggles as they stood before a full-length vanity mirror, examining their now-complete costumes. With Darcy's help, Keely's ensemble had come together perfectly—even the broomstick-turned-surfboard, which Darcy had spent the better part of ten minutes deciding how to transfigure. As the Scot had gone to find Alicia Spinnet and acquire the finishing touches, the blonde had changed into her own outfit. An auburn-haired devilish beauty with lightly red-glowing skin had met Keely at the door upon her return to the dorm, and the two girls had examined each other with pleased satisfaction.

"What time is it?" asked Keely as she slid a pair of borrowed sunglasses up into her hair. "I'm supposed to meet Toby in the Entrance Hall at ten till seven."

"You have five minutes then," Darcy replied after sparing a glance at her alarm clock. "And I should probably go find Oliver, so we can get down there ourselves. Whichever of us gets to the Great Hall first saves seats for the other, right?"

Keely nodded. "Righto."

"Cool. I'll see you in a few then." Both girls exited the dorm together, the Beater descending down to the common room and out the portrait hole, the Seeker heading up the stairs to the fourth-year-boys' dorm, careful to mind the long train of red silk that now glided around her bare legs with each step. She had raised her fist to politely knock—when she realized the heavy oak door was already partially ajar and, feeling a giddy thrill of mischief shiver its way down her spine, she dared to silently enter.

She found herself staring, open-mouthed, at Oliver Wood, who stood across the room in front of his own mirror. The fourth-year was absolutely stunning, all dressed up in his angelic costume with ethereal glow, as he thoughtfully contemplated his own reflection. She'd opened her mouth to call to him when he startled her by speaking himself.

"Aye, lad. You are good. _Damn_ good. Oh yeah. Never has a man existed quite so spiffing as yourself, Ollie, lad. Aye, you have _got_ it. Yes. _Yes_, Oliver! **_Yes!_**"

A snort of laughter escaped her before she could stop herself, and Oliver spun instantly, a brilliant red blush creeping from the collar of his shirt all the way up to his hairline as he stared at his date. "Darcy?" he squeaked, voice unusually high. "W-what are you doing here? You could've _knocked_…" Irritation and amusement were battling for control of his features as he observed Darcy doubled over giggling.

"Oh… Oliver, I'm sorry…" she managed to gasp between fits. "I was about to… to say your name… but then you… _so funny_!" A new spasm of laughter washed over her until tears streaked down her flushed cheeks and she was forced to swipe them carefully away while minding not to smudge her eyeliner. At last she explained, "I apologize again, Ollie. Don't think I'm laughing _at_ you. It's just… you are so completely _priceless_, you know that? Giving yourself a pep-talk…"

He had allowed the first hints of a smile to tug at his mouth once he'd realized she wasn't making fun of him. "Well, I needed to build myself up a little for tonight."

Darcy's amusement melted to honest surprise. "Why would you need to build yourself up? Look at you! You're absolutely amazing! No, wait, I'm sorry, you're absolutely _spiffing_," she corrected, utilizing his own words.

The Keeper chuckled at this. "Yeah, I am pretty spiffing, aren't I?"

"What about me?" queried his date, giving a light spin so he could view her in her full devilish glory. "Am I spiffing enough to be your date?"

"Darcy…" He crossed the room, taking both her delicate, soft hands within his own as he gazed meaningfully into her sapphire eyes. "You are a Greek goddess, and the reason I had to give myself a pep-talk. If you would've came in two seconds earlier, you would've caught me pinching myself to make sure this wasn't a dream."

The insanely overwhelming urge to kiss him was creeping back through Darcy's body, and before it could completely seize her, she produced a light chuckle and said airily, "I promise you, Mr. Wood, this is _not_ a dream. See?" And then she pinched him herself, right beneath his ribcage, so he squawked in protest and made a quick jump back. Smiling triumphantly, she queried, "So are we going to go down and make everybody jealous tonight or what?"

The angelic fourth-year offered a charming grin as he linked arms with his devilish seventh-year date. "Shall we, milady?"

Darcy flashed a smirk that easily fit her diabolical persona. "Who you callin' a lady, Halo Boy?" She gave her auburn curls an indignant toss. "Now let's make like a tree and blow this popsicle stand; the little devil in me is starting to get hungry."

***

The Hogwarts staff had outdone themselves decorating the Great Hall that year, and not a single student passed through the doors of the magnificent room without his or her jaw dropping open in amazement.

Occupying one half of the room, instead of the four long House tables, were several hundred smaller, round tables, all cloaked with orange and black table cloths and set with crystal-clear dishes and utensils. The other half of the hall was claimed by a glittering dance floor, the borders of which were marked by a luminescent ring of fairy lights. Soft, golden mood lighting illuminated the great room, created by numerous candles and jack-o-lanterns hovering far above.

A brilliantly clear night sky shone down from the ceiling, the dazzling vista of stars broken only by the occasional passage of the live cloud of bats that glided noiselessly around the hall.

The overall mood of the Great Hall, as Darcy and Oliver entered, was one of relaxation and good cheer. Most of the school had turned out for the Ball, all dressed in fabulous costumes that were a sight to behold. And yet many stares followed the Gryffindor couple in particular as they made their way to a table where Keely, Toby, and Brian sat waving at them.

"Why do I feel like people are watching us?" Oliver murmured nervously, clamping down a bit more tightly on Darcy's hand than he meant to.

__

Because you're not Kotter, the blonde mused to herself as she answered him teasingly, "Well, we _are_ glowing." When this answer did not seem to assure, and his grip on her hand became nearly unbearable, she added in a softer voice, "They're watching, Oliver, because they're curious. They're wondering, _who is that boy, looking so handsome?_ And then they're realizing that it's Oliver Wood, and that none other than Darcy Reed, the Head Girl, is walking arm-in-arm with him. And then they're thinking, _wow, look at those two. They are **stunning**_." She gifted him with a warm, beautiful smile. "Right now, every single girl is glaring at me jealously because they wish it was them by your side, and every single guy is shaking his head, wishing he could look as good as you do. _That's_ why they're watching, Oliver."

A slight blush rose in his cheeks as he returned a grin to his date and replied, "Actually, sweety, I think it's _you_ the guys can't take their eyes off of."

"Darcy! Oliver! Oh my Merlin, can you believe this place?" Keely had risen to meet them as they finally reached the table, indicating the chairs she had saved for the Keeper and Seeker. A place for Brian had also been reserved, and Loren and his date, a Hufflepuff fifth-year, were already seated. The Scottish girl continued to babble excitedly on, "I can't even believe my eyes! Everything looks so… so… _different_! And these plates! Merlin, these plates are the bloody wickedest thing I've ever seen! I just can't believe it! I think every single person in the school is here tonight…"

__

Not everyone, Darcy wanted to say, and as she traded a glance with her date, she could tell his thoughts were similar to her own. She whispered, "Forget about him for tonight, okay?"

"Only if you promise to, also," was his quiet reply.

A genuine smile spread across her visage as she gazed up at him, hints of adoration glittering in her azure eyes. The remarkable, attractive, kind-hearted Mr. Oliver Wood, and _she_ was _his_ date…

"Any place left at this table for a lady?" came an all-too-familiar and very _male_ voice, as Brian Keeler finally made his appearance at the Masquerade. The six occupants of the table stared curiously up at the late arrival, amusement and skepticism touching their various faces as they took his attire—a long black sequined dress and stiletto heels. He grinned at them all, his costume obviously having the effect he'd desired on his friends. "Sorry I'm running late; took me forever to find a Gryffindor girl willing to let me borrow a dress for the night. Finally talked Katie Bell into it, though she made me promise _seven_ times that I'd shrink it back when I was done. I told her not to worry about it; it'd take me longer to brew up the potion to reverse the hair-growing elixir I took then it would for me to shrink her dress back to size." He gave his dark brown hair, now hanging long and straight down past his shoulders, a light toss and sat down between Loren and Toby. "Has dinner started yet?"

"I think you're just in time, actually," said Toby, and indicated a larger round table at the head of the room where all the Hogwarts teachers were seated. Professor Dumbledore was rising gracefully to his feet, and producing a swift silence from the students with his mere presence, despite the rather comical pirate costume he sported.

In his dignified, sonorous voice, he announced, "A very good evening to you all! I am quite pleased to see such an impressive turnout, and believe this night shall be a festive one, indeed. We will take an hour to dine and enjoy the pleasure of each others' company, and then we will open the dance floor with our two Head students and their dates in a special spotlight dance. As we have no live entertainment for the evening, the selection of songs shall be up to you all; our own Professor Flitwick has graciously volunteered to receive your requests."

A smattering of applause arose respectfully for the tiny teacher, who stood upon his seat and gave a curt bow to the room.

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. "Yes, thank you, Professor. Now, to all of you, may your evening be a magical one, and that said, let us begin our dinner!"

With a sweeping wave of the headmaster's arm, every plate across the room filled instantly with the favorite foods of the witch or wizard it sat before. Beside Darcy, Keely was overcome by a paroxysm of joy as her own dish overflowed with a porterhouse steak, stuffing, bacon sandwiches, french fries, and corn casserole. Her nearby dessert bowl was filled with an entire pumpkin cheesecake.

Hyperventilating, the Beater gasped, "So… much… _food_!" before diving into her meal, only the occasional glint of a spoon or knife discernable in her frenzy.

The conversation at the table was light-hearted and pleasant, dominated mostly by quips traded between Brian and Darcy regarding their various costumes. Loren's Hufflepuff date, whose name they learned was Lorelei Creighton, proved to be a quite accomplished conversationalist, if not a bit giggly, and even Keely managed a few contributions to the discussion when her mouth was not full. By the time Darcy consumed her last bite of cinnamon ice cream—fed playfully to her by Oliver—she was feeling decidedly cheerful.

A debate had broken out between Toby and Lorelei, who played as Chaser on the Hufflepuff House team, over Bludger-avoiding tactics. Keeping half an ear to their deliberation, the Head Girl let her gaze wander around the room, taking in its various occupants, till it at last came to rest on the teachers' table.

Of all the occupants in the room, she believed she'd found the one who was _least_ enjoying the Masquerade Ball; Professor Snape sat looking quite unpleasant indeed, with arms folded bitterly across his chest, scowling at any individual that dared speak to him. The only change he had made by way of costume to his usual all-black ensemble was to add a Slytherin House green-and-silver tie, hanging loosely over his robes.

As though he could feel her questioning gaze upon him, Snape's pale ebony eyes swiveled suddenly to the blonde, and he began to glare—until he spotted Oliver seated beside her, one arm now slung comfortably around her bare shoulders. A greasy grin slithered across his sallow features as he regarded the girl, sending a disgusted shiver down her spine.

"Cold, Darcy?" came Oliver's concerned voice, pulling her away from the sliminess of the potions master. He scooted his chair closer to her own and drew her to him, till she could feel the soft heat of his body caressing her own flesh. "Better?"

She smiled dazzlingly up at him. "Much."

Across the table, Brian was contemplating the pair with a knowing smirk, and when he caught Darcy's eye, she could almost sense the 'I-told-you-so' thoughts rolling merrily through his mind. She shot him back a single raised eyebrow, eliciting a laugh from the Beater.

"What's _your_ malfunction, Keeler?" Toby demanded, thinking Brian had been laughing at his proposal of a national holiday to celebrate the birthday of his Quidditch hero Arvo Moldoya. "Did you get your pantyhose too tight or something?" Chuckles broke out at this, especially from Darcy, who shot the cross-dressing seventh-year a particularly amused smirk. Brian seemed wholly unfazed.

"_Actually_," he replied, staring directly at the devilish Seeker, "I'm not wearing any pantyhose. I _did_, however, manage to obtain a very lovely pair of blue silk panties from our very own Miss Reed that she left in the locker room once after practice."

Darcy's eyes went wide. "_That's_ where those got to! You underwear thief!"

And as she yelled this, the room suddenly went silent, with many eyes turning to stare at the Head Girl as a brilliant white spotlight fell upon her. In the background she could hear Dumbledore: "—will now rise and grace us with the first dance of the evening?" Across the hall, she saw Nick Levine and his date, another seventh-year Ravenclaw named Sydney Harris, making their way to the dance floor. Oliver had stood up beside her and was waiting patiently for her to follow suit.

__

Oh hell… the thought rolled through her mind, and gracefully she took to her feet, beaming a wide grin. Her date quivered with barely-contained laughter as he took her arm and led her toward the front of the room. Through her fixed smile, she hissed, "Shut up, Oliver."

One of Celestina Warbeck's soft, flowing love songs had begun to play as they stepped onto the dance floor, and Darcy let the Keeper's hands fall onto her slender hips as she linked her fingers behind his neck, the two swaying along in time to the music as a spotlight followed their progress. The only other couple on the floor swept swiftly up to meet them.

"Bloody hate this part of the evening," muttered Nick Levine. The Head Boy was dressed as the Sorting Hat, and his date Sydney was outfitted as Roweena Ravenclaw in robes of blue and bronze.

Darcy had History of Magic and DADA classes with Sydney; the two often passed notes back and forth between them during the most droning of Professor Binns' lectures. Feigning disappointment in her friend, the blonde sadly shook her head and said, "I can't believe you gave in, Syd. You should've went with your original idea and gone as a Quaffle and a goal post."

Indifferently, the Ravenclaw girl shrugged. "Eh. Nick promised me he'd let me pick out his dress robes for the Yule Ball if I went as Roweena Ravenclaw," she replied.

"You sure that was a smart idea, Nick?" Oliver piped in as the Head Boy looked uneasily at his date. As the Ravenclaw couple drifted off to another part of the dance floor, the fourth-year shared a smile with Darcy. "So does that mean that, since _you_ got to pick _our_ costumes for tonight, that _I_ get to pick your dress robes for the Yule Ball?"

"Only if you want to find out what it feels like to have a Beater's club jammed up your—"

His warm fingertips fell across her lips as the Keeper laughed. "I'll take that as a no," he mused and lightly swept a fallen rouge curl from Darcy's forehead.

Ignoring the tingling sensation that was spreading from the base of her spine at his soft touch, she answered sarcastically, "You're a smart boy," and sighed with relief as, at last, the song came to an end and was replaced by a jazzier, more upbeat melody. More couples began to filter onto the dance floor.

"So, Ollie," she mused, forced to raise her voice over the murmur of the crowd that now pressed in around them, "I suppose it's too late to ask if you know how to swing."

He stared at her with amazement. "Do I know how to _swing_? Come on, now, Darcy, I'm from Scotland! We invented the Riverdance!" At his date's horrified look, he laughed and quickly added, "Just kidding! But maybe you ought to give me a quick refresher course on fast-dancing, and I'll follow your lead."

Satisfied that the Keeper would not break into any sudden, high-kneed kicks, Darcy began to dance, and let her body fall into synch with the undulating mass around her.

***

The hours of the evening rolled by with startling speed, soon passing midnight, and still the Masquerade Ball rolled on. The dance floor proved to be a constant center of activity, with the students rotating between there and the snack table that had been set up at the back of the room as the night progressed.

Giving her weary feet a break after two solid hours of dancing, Darcy left Oliver to chat with a group of other fourth-years and wandered off in search of Keely, the Scottish girl having apparently set up camp next to the cheesecake slices on the snack table. As she passed the drink cart, the Seeker reached out to grasp a bottle of butterbeer—and found long, icy fingers locked around her wrist.

"Only third-years and up are allowed to—oh, it's _you_." Unpleasant as ever, Professor Snape stared down at her with a sickly grin, clucking his tongue. "Not setting a very good example to the younger students, are you, Miss Reed?"

She glanced distastefully down at the hand still clutched at her wrist, and replied coolly, "I haven't had anything to drink all night, butterbeer or otherwise."

Snape's almost-black eyes narrowed threateningly. "You would do well to mind your tongue, Reed. I might have been forced into attending this foolish Ball against my will, but most certainly was not stripped of my ability to hand out detentions… or take House points," he hissed, and released her arm with a sharp jerk. A final piercing glare was her departing gift, and then the potions master crept away to prey upon a Hufflepuff couple dancing too closely.

"He's just shirty because no one wants to dance with him," came Keely's voice as she paced over, munching thoughtfully on a cauldron cake. "I'd offer, but I'm too afraid of coming away permanently covered in grease."

Darcy snorted a laugh and popped the top on her butterbeer. "You're such a considerate girl, Keely," she said, and downed half her beverage in one swift gulp.

"Hey, isn't that the song you requested?" queried the Beater, her head inclined to listen to the music playing through the hall. Darcy followed suit, and as the first few lyrics met her ears, she let out a squeal of excitement.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, and thrust her half-finished butterbeer at Keely as she began to search frantically for Oliver. But he was right at her elbow as she turned, smiling charmingly.

"Can I have this dance?" he asked, politely offering his arm to the blonde. Demurely she accepted, and followed her angelic date to the dance floor where his warm, strong hands slid once more down the curves of her waist.

There was something very comforting about being wrapped up in Oliver's arms for the Seeker, and she leaned instinctively into his body, pressing her lithe form up against his muscular frame without a second thought. It had been a very long time since she'd slow-danced with a man—Kotter wasn't exactly the dancing type—and she'd forgotten how deliciously comfortable it could be. Darcy let a contented sigh pass her lips as her fingers wound carelessly up to tangle in the short, silky hairs at the nape of his neck.

Oliver inhaled sharply at her touch. "Darcy…" he murmured into her auburn curls, his warm breaths tickling at her ear. "I think—"

"Shh…" she silenced him with one manicured finger pressed gently to his lips. "Don't think." And then she smiled, with lips that shamed the red, red rose pouting delectably up at him. The honey flesh of her naked shoulders was like velvet beneath his fingertips, the delicate vanilla and lavender scent of her perfume fogging his mind as it enticed his olfactories. He gazed down into the liquid depths of her sapphire eyes.

Darcy stared evenly back, and wondered what it would be like to simply lean forward and claim his lips in her own. She imagined tracing her tongue up the defined curve of his jaw as her hands explored the washboard plane of his chest, feeling the vibrations of his moans of ecstasy.

What would be so wrong, she mused, with simply giving in? Allowing the desires that plagued her body, her mind, her heart with every breath she took to at last overcome her? For everything that felt wrong about loving Oliver Wood, there were a hundred more things that felt right, from the way he said her name to the feel of his hair wrapped around her fingers. Things like that had never felt quite right when she was with Kotter. And Kotter—

—was standing in the doorway of the Great Hall, his ice-cold gaze fixed on the dancing couple. Immediately Darcy tensed, and Oliver looked concernedly down at her.

"Darce? What is it…?" Then he followed her gaze, and all the color seemed to drain from the fourth-year's face. In a low, nervous voice, he whispered, "What's he doing here?"

"I don't know," was her reply, "but I'm going to take care of this once and for all." She extracted herself reluctantly from Oliver's warm grasp, a bubble of irritation swelling rapidly through her mind. She told the Keeper, "Stay here; I'll be back," and marched away across the room, feeling confident that she was at last ready to end her relationship with Kotter. She didn't stop walking when she reached him, instead headed out into a deserted corner of the Entrance Hall, indicating he follow. When she was sure they were alone and out of earshot, she hissed, "What do you _want_, Kotter?"

"I needed to see you," he whispered back, and there was a desperation in his voice that was altogether unsettling. "I needed to see for myself. I think I'm losing you, Darcy…"

"You lost me a long time ago," she shot back instantly, folding her arms across her chest. It was several degrees cooler in the Entrance Hall than in the Great Hall, and a slow chill was working its way through her bones.

As if realizing the precariousness of the situation, Kotter moved quickly on, his words spilling off his tongue in a vigorous stream. "No, no, I haven't lost you yet, Darcy, not all the way. You wouldn't even have come out here if I'd lost you all the way. I've got one last shot now, one last try, and I have to do it now before you slip away for good." He jammed his hands into the pockets of his robes, searching for something.

Darcy sighed with irritation and said, "Kotter, just let it go, I think it's over between—"

Suddenly Kotter fell to his knees, his hands stretched out before him as he thrust a small box up toward her skeptical visage. Inside the tiny black box came a glimmer of gold and diamond, and as the realization of the box's contents dawned on her, he spoke solemnly, "Darcy Madeleine Reed, will you marry me?"

Her jaw made a slow descent toward the floor, all oxygen ceasing flow to her brain, and she was left only to stare at the immense diamond ring he held inches away from her face.

"I promise that if you become my wife, there won't ever be a single thing missing from your world. I will make your life a perfect haven, and anything you would ever wish from will be yours without question. I just want to make you happy, Darcy, and I know that I can. Please… just…" He stretched the ring a bit closer, almost pleading. "What do you say?"

"I…" Words failed her. What would she say? What _could_ she say? "I… it… but…"

Kotter sighed, and stood slowly. "I think I understand," he said, and for one blissful moment she dared to believe he was letting her go—and then the real world came crashing back down on her. "I thought you might be a little overwhelmed by this all, and that's okay. I understand completely. But don't you worry." He carefully closed the little box and, taking her hands, folded them around the packaged ring. "I'll leave this with you, baby, and give you some time to let it sink in, until you're ready to make the right decision and say yes." He grazed a kiss lightly across her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, my sweet Darcy."

And then he left her there, speechless, trapped in the horrible jumble of her thoughts.

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So… what did we think? I know it probably wasn't the result a lot of you were hoping for… but I've got _huge_ honkin' plans for the next chapter, which is the first Quidditch game of the season chapter, and the chapter where Ollie takes that fateful crack to his noggin. My only hint to you all is to reread the last few paragraphs of Brian's speech to Darcy at the end of Chapter Sixteen… I shall say no more… ;)

Let me know what you think! Loves and hugs to you all ~ Adele


	19. Blessed Moonlight

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Fixing to Fly

Chapter Nineteen

Author's Note: Okay, so I lied a little. It appears as though Chapter _Twenty_ will be the big Quidditch match, which is fine, as I think it deserves its own chapter anyway. This is just a little shorty chapter I wrote, though I'm very pleased with the way it turned out… and I think you'll all be quite pleased with what happens.

And now, some love for my reviewers: yay new reviewers! A huge thank you and much love sent to: **Joanna, Shellie, berryangel,** and** Anoriel**, the newest members of the F2F reviewers' community. You guys are awesome! And an additional thanks to **Josie** for telling **Shellie** about my story; I owe you a huge debt of gratitude for providing me with some free publicity, not to mention your oh-so-kind and insightful reviews of all my chapters! 

And since I haven't done it in a while, a little quick individual love for all my repeat reviewers: ***Christi** ~ Tell God I'm working on it. ;) ***Kat** ~ You remain the most amazing and fantastic person I know when it comes to writing advice and overall friendship. Thanks sweety! ***Jessika** ~ No chapter is complete without one of your reviews! Thanks for the info on Book 5, also; I ordered online at barnesandnoble.com. ***pokElilpupE** ~ You've always given me the best and most detailed reviews and your comments on what you like about the chapters really help me when I write. Thank you _so_ much! ***Amerz & Carlyn** ~ Not only are you my buds at school, you're also sweet enough to review online too! *sniffle* I heart you guys so much!! ***shewhodares, Fearless, Cal, WannabeHobbit, No Name Face, Puppy, D. Henderson, and dracos-gurl, **you have ALL been amazingly supportive and I can't thank any of you enough for your indispensable input.

If I've forgotten anyone, please understand that it was _in no way_ intentional. All my reviewers have been like oxygen to me while writing this story; I live and breathe off all the wonderful, encouraging messages you leave me. I will never be able to thank you all enough.

****

Hey, is it me, or does everybody hate KOTTER??? ;) Chapter Nineteen's up!

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It took less than five minutes for Oliver to come searching for her, despite her parting request to stay put. The tiny black box with its disturbing contents was still clutched in her hands when she spotted the fourth-year striding purposefully across the Entrance Hall, a look of concern on his face. She only just had time to jam the box deep within the folds of her dress before he reached her seconds later.

"Darcy? There you are! Are you okay?" he asked instantly, taking her hands within his own. "Merlin, you're _freezing_!" He drew her swiftly into his warm embrace, rubbing at the icy flesh of her bare shoulders.

"I'm _fine_, Oliver," she answered with a touch of exasperation, though she secretly enjoyed the attention he was lavishing upon her. "Really, I am."

Contemplatively he stared down at her, and beneath his scrutinizing gaze, a squirmy, nervous feeling began to grow in her stomach. She absolutely hated lying to him, but she knew there was no way she could tell him about the ring that now laid heavily in her pocket. Why did Kotter have to do this to her? Her evening had been so perfect…

But, to her surprise, he didn't ask her any questions, only continued to rub at her shoulders until she was warm once more. "There. Much better, I think." And then he smiled at her, and her body temperature went up yet a few degrees more.

"Yes. Thank you," she replied, unable to lift her eyes from the fold in her dress where she knew the ring was hidden.

"Darcy." Oliver's voice, gentle but stern.

Silently she panicked, a thousand conflicting thoughts clamoring in her mind. She should tell him… no, he would leave then, out of respect for Kotter, and _god_, how she needed him to stay. No, she couldn't tell him. But then it was just one more secret, one more lie, one more filament on the tangled web she had already woven. She was trapped between two equally undesirable options with no hope of a third to rescue her, and as all the world closed in around the girl, she wished only to open her mouth and scream…

But instead, she did the one thing Oliver—or she, herself, for that matter—could never have expected. She threw her arms around the tall, muscular fourth-year, burying her face in the warm hallow of his neck, and whispered, "I'm so glad you came with me tonight, Oliver."

Startled as he was, he quickly regained his composure, and slipped his arms around her lithe body in return. "I'm just glad you let me."

She managed a laugh at this, despite the tears that were trying to invade her eyes. She rapidly blinked them away, her fluttering eyelids tickling Oliver's neck, until at last she felt her composure had been regained. She looked up to find him studying her intently.

"What do you think, Darcy?" he queried, cupping her face in his hands. "Are you ready to go back into the Great Hall… or would you rather call it a night?"

The warm, supportive feeling of his flesh against hers seemed to wash away the doubt, the bitterness, and the uncertainty that had still lingered in her system. _If Kotter is poison_, she mused, recalling some half-forgotten phrase Brian had once told her, _then Oliver is the cure._ She felt a smile grace her lips. "I think I'm ready to go dance some more," she said, reaching up to take one of his hands and entwine it lightly with her own. "That is, of course, if you want to."

He grinned. "_Nothing_ would make me happier… except maybe winning the Quidditch Cup this year," he teased.

"Hey, that's up to you, Keeper Boy," she shot back, playfully prodding him in the chest. "You've got the hard part of that task; I just chase around a golden walnut."

Oliver laughed and shook his head, gently combing the curls out of her face before starting toward the Great Hall. As she fell into step with him, he remarked, "I think we've still got a slow dance to finish, right?"

"I think you're right," she replied, smiling. Together they reentered the Masquerade Ball, and for a few blissful hours, Darcy forgot all about Kotter's little gift. 

***

The dawn of Friday morning was less than an hour away when Oliver and Darcy at last returned to Gryffindor Tower. They had been one of the last pairs to leave the Great Hall; Darcy, feeling it her duty as a Prefect, had offered to stay and help the teachers clean up afterward. Not wishing to leave her side, and despite her various protests, Oliver, too, had volunteered to remain. Now a drunken sort of exhaustion had overcome both, leaving them to lean heavily on each other as they shuffled their way up the stone staircase to their dorms.

"I had an _amazing_ night," she said softly as they reached her particular doorway. "Did you have a good night, Ollie?"

"Darcy, I had _the_ best night of my life," he replied with complete honestly. However, the lopsided smile of elation that occupied his features was highly comical and she found herself stifling a giggle, though she could only imagine her own expression looked equally ridiculous. Oliver, believing her laugh to be one of skepticism, insisted, "No, I mean it. I've never had such a great time with such a great person. And _you_ are a great dancer. It was great."

"Great," she replied, and laughed outright. Then she apologized, "Sorry, Oliver. I'm one of those people who either gets really giggly, or really cranky when I'm tired. And I'm too happy right now to be cranky, so… you get Laughing Girl." She snorted again.

He attempted a look of exasperation that ended only as an amused smile. "Then I better let you get to bed so you don't wake the whole tower," he said, and brushed his fingertips lightly over her temple a last time. "Goodnight, Darcy." He turned to head up the stairs.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" And before she could stop herself, she'd grabbed him by the collar and drawn him back to her, holding him and his oh-so-desirable lips captive only inches away from her own face. Her voice purred huskily up from her throat as she demanded, "Isn't it custom to get a goodnight kiss at the end of a good date?"

For the briefest second, a look of uncertainty flickered across his features. "I don't…" And then he was caught up in the smoldering glitter of her ocean-hued eyes, entranced by the feel of her fingers wound so possessively into his collar. The final straw came when a stray beam of moonlight filtered suddenly down upon her face, bringing an irresistible gleam to her full, blood red lips. He could control himself no longer. "Oh hell, you _did_ ask…"

Plush, velvety lips met his own as Oliver leaned swiftly forward and kissed the beautiful Gryffindor Prefect, his mind instantly exploding into a haze of stars. It was absolutely everything and absolutely nothing like he'd always dreamed it would be.

Darcy at first stood stunned, feeling the soft warmth of his breaths tickling at her cheeks, until, in the wake of exhaustion, her last vestiges of control snapped, and she was kissing him back as though she'd never kissed a man before. He tasted deliciously of outdoors, rain on fresh-cut summer grass, a cool spring breeze rolling across the lake. As time stood frozen around them, she committed to memory every last detail of their kiss: the texture of his tongue as it slicked over her own, his hands sliding up to tangle in her hair, how tightly he closed his eyes, as if to stop himself from waking from some dream…

A blurry haze had begun to build in her mind as her supply of oxygen rapidly ran out. At last, she was forced to pull away, and as she stepped back, a startling sharp pain lanced through her body, as though a part of her soul had been suddenly torn away.

Flushing madly, Oliver gazed at her, flustered. "Darcy…" the word left his lips as a low, feral growl, vibrating with the sheer intensity of his desire.

The realization of what she'd just done dawned slowly on her—at the same time her hand slipped into the pocket where Kotter's ring still lay. As the cold box brushed her fingertips, it was like a jolt of electricity flowing through her body; she jerked, and stared, wide-eyed, at Oliver. "I… I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," he insisted when at last his wits returned to him. "I'm not."

"Oliver, you know we can't…"

He sighed heavily. "I know. Believe me, I _know_. But I had to… just once, right? Just to be sure… And if we never… well. At least I'll always have this moment." He smoothed his thumb softly over her bottom lip, which was slightly swollen from their passionate kiss, and gave her a small, sad smile. "Goodnight, Darcy."

"Goodnight," she whispered, and watched him ascend silently up the stairs. She waited until he'd disappeared completely from her view to at last turn and enter her dorm. Immediately she was greeted by Keely's low, rattling snores, a single naked arm hanging out of her roommate's bed curtains as the Seeker made her way to her own bunk. She retrieved her wand from her dresser and, muttering a quick counter-spell, her temporarily auburn curls melted back to their rich gold, her skin lost its otherworldly shimmer, and she was plain old Darcy again.

Her costume was carefully folded and put away in her armoire, saved for a later time when it might again prove useful. And the wretched little black box that had spent the night hiding in the folds of her dress was relocated to her desk, where she sat staring at it for a long time. The first tendrils of dawn had crept their way into the dorm when she came to a decision.

And that was how the gift of Kotter's proposal came to be buried in the deepest reaches of her trunk. For two full weeks it stayed hidden from sight… but it was always there, lurking in the back of Darcy's mind.

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Comin' up next: Quidditch match!!! That should be up by the end of the weekend. 

Live long and write fanfic! *~Adele~*


	20. Under Pressure

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Fixing to Fly

Chapter Twenty

Author's Note: I… am… **_so_**… sorry!!! I never dreamed it would take me this long to write out the next chapters, honestly I didn't. But I've got a good explanation! Well, as best I can do, anyway. Christi, you got it right, girl: Adele got herself a man! And from there, a long list of other equally annoying, important, sweet, devastating, and otherwise confusing things tied up every spare second of my life and sent my poor Harry Potter muse on vacation. It's a _long_ story, and if you _really_ are that interested in hearing it, feel free to e-mail me and ask, my address is on my author info page thingy. But I won't bore everyone with that long story here. Instead, I will happily inform you that my Harry Potter muse is back, and dancing naked in my head like he always does… oh-_kay_, maybe I shouldn't have told you that… ;) But I seriously cannot begin to apologize for the long delay, and thank you all for your patient. I promise, promise, _promise_ you will never have to wait this long for chapters again. In fact, to try and make up for my long delay, I give you _two_—yes, _two_—chapters in one night! Okay, so Twenty _isn't_ the Quidditch match like I said it would be, it's a precursor. Twenty-one is the big match, and you get that one, too. And, having just done a word count, that's a total of over _6,000_ words for you in these two chapters. So enjoy! A please forgive a poor lovesick girl for her procrastination. ;)

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"_Darcy!_"

She was falling, and though hands stretched out to catch her, they could not stop her swift plunge toward the earth below. The sky was thick with heavy rain drops, racing her to the hard, muddy ground below, and she forced her muscles to go limp as she fell the last few feet. She hit the grass of the Quidditch pitch and rolled, coming to a stop on her back in an ice-cold mud puddle, and there she lay for a moment, gasping for stolen breaths.

__

Should've just cancelled practice, the thought drifted through her fuzzy mind, not for the first time that evening. The day had dawned gray and stormy, and as evening began to close in, conditions had certainly not improved. It had taken much poking, prodding and promising to pry her team from around the cozy firelight in the Gryffindor common room and down to the quagmire of the pitch; the only reason she'd even made the effort was because of their first match of the season being the following morning. 

She now seriously doubted the wisdom of her own decision. Frozen, soaking wet, the Gryffindor players were expending more energy whining then practicing, and now their captain lay coated in mud on the cold, hard ground. Bloody brilliant.

The ringing in her ears had faded to a dull hum and she'd begun to make a half-hearted stab at sitting up when the rest of the team arrived at last.

"Jesus christ, DC, are you okay?" cried Brian, kneeling over the blonde and offering a hand to help her up, which she promptly ignored. Her attempt to stand was quickly thwarted when Keely joined the fray and forced the Seeker back to the ground.

"No, don't move, Darcy, you could be hurt," insisted the Scot, a note of panic in her voice. "You fell over thirty feet! You could have internal injuries! Or spinal swelling! Oh Merlin, I don't want you to die from an intracranial hemorrhage!"

Darcy raised a curious eyebrow at her distraught roommate. "Have you been reading my Magical Medicine textbook again?" She pushed gently past the various hands outstretched to her and found her way to her feet, despite the bitter protesting of her likely-bruised back. Taking in the continued apprehensive looks of her team, she said, "I'm _fine_, guys, okay? I just slipped off my broom, it's slick as hell out here."

"Strange how you didn't hear us all point that out earlier in the common room…" muttered Kotter, who instantly received several dangerous glares and a sharp elbow to the ribs from Toby.

"Oh, bite me, you big whiny prat," snapped Darcy, startling them all. She was in no particular mood to take his bad attitude with her usual smile and nod. Kotter stared back at her in shock as she went on, "I _know_ it's bloody cold, and I _know_ it's bloody wet, okay? Have you all _not_ noticed that I'm out here too? I'm suffering just as much as the rest of you…" she looked down at her soaked, muddied robes. "Probably more so, now. But I want to _slaughter_ those idiot Slytherins tomorrow, and I'm willing to be out here freezing my ass off to be sure that it happens. Okay?"

Silence was her response. No one seemed willing to meet her blazing sapphire eyes save Oliver, who simply gazed back with calm curiosity. A weary sigh escaped the captain.

She said in a calmer voice, "All right. Know what? I think we've practiced enough for one night. Go on." She nodded across the rain-hazed field to the blurry outline of the locker room entrance. Gladly the six Gryffindor players hurried toward the haven of the locker room, visions of a hot shower drifting through their various minds.

Oliver had taken only a few steps when he noticed the absence of one blonde Seeker, and spun to find her tenderly brushing mud from the polished handle of her Nimbus. "Darcy?"

"Hmm?" she answered lightly, not looking up.

Slowly he approached her, scrutinizing her with concern in his chocolate eyes, until at last he queried, "Are you okay, Darcy?"

She sighed. "I told you not _five_ minutes ago that I'm just _fine_; it wasn't _that_ bad of a fall—"

"No, that's not what I mean," he interrupted shortly, eliciting a sharp, confused glance from the gold-haired Gryffindor. "I'm sure _physically_ you're fine. I'm talking about… you know… your _mental_ health."

To his surprise, she laughed. "If you're calling me crazy, I should tell you, you're not the first nor, I doubt, the last to do so."

"No!" The fifth-year was growing frustrated, and had the strange sense that Darcy was annoying him on purpose. "Will you _please_ just take me seriously for one minute?! I'm trying to tell you that I'm _worried_ about you! You've been—I don't know, _preoccupied_ is the best word for it, I guess—for the past two weeks, like something's on your mind. You don't really eat much, and Keely says you haven't been sleeping, just sitting up and staring at the end of your bed, like there's something there no one else can see."

Darcy's trunk sat at the end of her bed. And there _was_ something inside it that no one else had seen… "So Keely's in on this too, huh?" she mused lightly.

Suddenly Oliver became fascinated with the wet blades of grass clinging to his shoe. "Well, I kind of asked her to do me a favor and… tell me if you were… acting… _strange_."

It was the seventh-year's turn for a flash of irritation, though it dulled quickly in the face of the swell of affection she felt, knowing he cared enough about her to keep tabs on her behavior. "Why would you think I'd be acting strangely?" she queried, closing the distance between them with a few long strides.

Acutely aware of her proximity, he swallowed thickly and said, "Well, I, ah… I don't know, I guess—after I, um, you know… after I kissed you and all…"

Sapphire eyes narrowed on his blushing features. Neither of them had spoken of the kiss since its occurrence, though it clearly lingered on both their minds for some time after, most notably when they drew close to one another. She would lick her lips, and remember the feel of his tongue as it slipped over her own; he would run his hands carelessly through his hair, and recall the texture of her own silky golden tresses wrapped delicately about his fingers. It would take all the willpower of both not to lean forward and make that connection again as they sat together in the library, or at the Gryffindor table, or in the common room.

"That's _not_ what's been on my mind the past two weeks," she said swiftly, which was a partial truth. "Don't think my… _preoccupied_ state is in any way your fault."

"Oh." His tone bordered on disappointment. "So what is it, then?"

Not for the first time, she considered telling him about the shiny diamond ring that sat lurking, constantly waiting for her every time she entered the dorm. He could tell her what to do, help her best decide how to extricate herself from her current predicament. But before the words could pass her lips, better judgement would prevail, as it did now, and all she said was, "It's nothing, really. Just a lot of little things. Nothing important. Don't worry about it."

Unconvinced, he replied slowly, "Okay…"

"I _mean_ it." She reached out to gently stroke the smooth flesh of his cheek with her hand, something she rarely let herself do anymore, so uncertain was she of her own self control. Oliver leaned into her touch, hungry for the feel of her warm skin against his own, and torn, as he always was, when she pulled away. A vague smile traced its way across her lips. "I'm freezing. Let's get out of here, huh?" And without waiting for his response, she strode off toward the locker room, her broomstick cocked jauntily over one shoulder.

Inside the Gryffindor locker room, Loren had conjured a brilliant red ball of fire, twice the size of a Quaffle, that levitated at the room's center, radiating luscious heat upon the chilled players as they shed their muddied, bloodied, and otherwise soaking wet uniforms. Keely sat perched on a bench beside the fire, eyes closed, as she allowed the licking flames to dry her rain-slicked flesh. A fierce look of concentration was cast over the Scot's face.

Stifling a smirk, the Quidditch captain queried, "What are you _doing_?"

"Shh!" Keely frowned at the disruption. "Don't bother me right now, DC. I'm trying to memorize _exactly_ how I feel at this very moment, so tomorrow when I'm playing Slytherin, I can remember all the crap I've had to put up with. It'll make it _much_ easier for me to bust their filthy, disgusting heads in with my club."

Darcy managed a laugh at this, despite the fact she felt like the victim of a particularly vigorous hippogriff stampede. She shuffled her way toward her dressing room, where Brian stood leaning nonchalantly against the door. A wide smudge of mud splayed comically across his face and up into his hair as he grinned at her.

"Looking good there, Quidditch Queen," he teased as she approached.

One eyebrow cocked skeptically, she replied, "Right back at you, Bludger Boy. Care to move so I can get out of these soaking robes?"

Brian feigned a pout. "What, no strip tease today?"

"Only in my nightmares," she said, and pushed the chuckling Beater aside to gain access to the welcoming privacy of her dressing room. The wall torch provided a low golden light as she swiftly freed her lithe frame from the confines of her drenched uniform. She was in the midst of peeling her sopping wet sweater over her head when a voice from behind made her jump and stumble backward into the wall.

"So have you decided yet?"

Escaping the material shrouding her head, Darcy looked wildly around for the speaker—and found Kotter seated in her plush red chair, the damp robes he still wore leaving darkened stains on the silken cushions. He contemplated her critically beneath his mass of curly blonde hair that hung dripping in his face.

"Merlin, Kotter, you scared the life out of me!" she protested, grabbing a spare robe from her wardrobe to shield her scantily-clad body.

He ignored her comment and, as though picking up the strand of some long-forgotten conversation, demanded, "It's been two weeks now, and I know these decisions take time, but the sooner you tell me you're ready, the sooner I can start picking out dates, and locations—"

"What _are_ you on about?"

Glaring unhappily at her interruption, he said with a touch of impatience, "Don't tell me you've forgotten already." When she failed to respond, he snapped, "Jesus, Darcy, it's only our future you're deciding! You don't have much longer to put this off; I want to be married, honeymooned, and happily settled into our new home by the time we both start work at the Ministry next fall."

A flutter of laughter escaped the blonde as she stared at him with mild amazement. "You're kidding me, right? You don't honestly believe that's the way our life will go—_if_ I decide to marry you at all, that is."

"Oh, Darcy, don't be stupid, of course you'll marry me." He waved a hand dismissively at her words. "And it's no secret fact we're both shoe-ins for Ministry positions. My father's already putting in a good word to bring me in as Assistant Director of the Department of Experimental Magic, and he told me your name's already down to start Auror training as soon as you graduate."

"Doesn't anybody listen to me when I say I don't _want_ to be an Auror like my father?" she said, annoyed, as she finished dressing in her school robes and carefully smoothed out the pleats of her skirt.

Kotter sighed, and took on the stoic expression of a parent explaining to a five-year-old _why_ she had to go to bed at nine o'clock. "Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do, Darcy, and besides, once you get into training, I'm sure you'll come to love being an Auror. It's what's _right_ for you, after all."

"Who are you to say what's _right_ for me?" she demanded, growing increasingly agitated by his arrogance. "Who are you to plan my life?"

A disturbingly smug smile curled his lips. "I'm your fiancé."

Barely-suppressed rage rippled through the blonde till she literally shook with fury, fists balled so tightly at her sides that her knuckles turned white. Her voice a low growl, barely recognizable as her own, as she uttered, "You are _not_ my fiancé." And with that, she stormed out of the locker room.

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But just wait, there's more!! If you want to stop and review this chapter as well, feel free, but a lot of the good stuff you've been waiting for is in the next. Either way, I love reviews! And my readers/reviewers the sweetest, nicest, most amazing people in the world. ;) …Okay, so I'm sucking up a little, hoping you've all forgiven me for my little hiatus. But I really do think you guys are awesome. Thanks so much.

Yours very apologetically ~ Adele


	21. Quidditch Match

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Fixing to Fly

Chapter Twenty-one

Author's Note: And, as promised, here's twenty-one. Should be lotsa good Darcy/Oliver sweetness in here. I don't think it'll end the way a lot of you expect though. Hope ya like it! And, even though I hate to do it, I'll set for myself a deadline, and say that you should have Chapter Twenty-two no later than Friday. Anyway. I babbled enough in the last chapter. I won't delay you in this one. ;) Much love, as always, to my super-cool readers and reviewers!

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The rain ended sometime in the night. Darcy was awake to hear it, as she slept very little, and at last crawled resignedly from her bed when the first touches of color lit the eastern sky. She dressed soundlessly, feeling almost jealous of the snores emanating from Keely's bed, indicating her roommate was deep in slumber.

Slipping down to the common room, she revived the embers in the fireplace and sprawled out next to its glowing warm, laying on her back to stare up at the high vaulted ceiling. It was the morning of the first Quidditch game of the season, and while her top-notch team slept peacefully in their rooms above her, the captain lay awake, restless and weary, her mind muddled with thoughts of her future—which had apparently been planned without her knowledge. Marriage, home, career… all the decisions she'd always assumed she'd have the final word on were now being made without _any_ of her input. It simply wasn't fair…

She fell into a fitful doze there, on the rug in front of the fire, and for two hours she slept without any notice of the world around her. Her House mates, descending through the common room to breakfast, regarded the sleeping Seeker with affectionate smiles, and were particularly careful to maintain silence until they'd passed through the portrait and out into the corridor.

While her fellow Gryffindors ate breakfast, Darcy dreamt, shifting and moaning softly as the images came to life in her head. She was on the Quidditch pitch, on her Nimbus, and hot on the tail of the Golden Snitch. But as she neared the shimmering ball, she realized it wasn't a Snitch at all—it was her _freedom_, and no matter how hard she flew, she simply could not catch that which she most desired; it hovered eternally mere inches from her fingertips. She'd begun to lose hope, and was moments away from giving up… when suddenly, Oliver appeared, and with one easy grab, he caught her freedom in one hand—and held it out to her, offering her the most sacred of gifts, and immediately she reached for it without hesitation… but then something was stopping her, holding her back. She looked frantically over her shoulder and found Kotter, clinging determinedly to her Nimbus, keeping her from her freedom and brandishing a diamond ring at her as though it was a weapon, all the while repeating, "_It's what's right for you_…"

"No… I don't want it… it's _not_ right… **_no!_**" She woke with a start as hands fell upon her shoulders and gently shook her.

"Hey. Hey, DC. You okay? C'mon, sweetheart, wake up now," came a voice, soothing in its familiarity, and the Gryffindor Prefect opened her blue eyes to find Brian Keeler kneeling by her side, carefully sweeping strands of gold hair out of her face. "There's my girl."

"Brian?" For a moment she goggled at her surroundings, then hissed painfully as a brilliant ray of sunshine blurred her vision. "Where am I? What happened to…" Consciousness swam suddenly back to her. She jolted to her feet, a slight undercurrent of panic in her tone as she demanded, "What time is it? I haven't missed the game, have I?"

Chuckling lightly, the Beater stood to join her, and replied with easy nonchalance, "The game hasn't started yet, Darcy, you're not late for anything—well, except breakfast."

A deep sigh of relief swelled up from the girl's chest. "Oh thank Merlin," she murmured, and swayed backward a step as vertigo took momentary lease of her body. Brian laughed again and caught her by the elbow, looping an arm supportively around her lithe waist as he guided her out of Gryffindor Tower and down to the Great Hall, where breakfast was in full swing. The rest of her team had helped themselves to full, heaping breakfasts.

"Morning, sunshine!" Keely teased when she spotted the Quidditch captain. "So kind of you to descend from your dignified position on the common room floor and join us! Want some eggs?" A bite of grease-coated food was thrust under Darcy's nose.

With a look of detached annoyance, the blonde replied, "I hate you, Keely," and promptly took her seat between Oliver and Kotter as the female Beater giggled.

Darcy located for herself a bowl of porridge and, as she began to consume her breakfast, her attention turned to her young fourth-year teammate, who was busy masticating an immense bite of sausage. With a smirk, she mused, "I take it you're not nervous, Ollie, eating a huge meal like that before the game." She indicated his plate, which was rife with bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, ham, and several other foods.

"Think I'm excited, more'n anything," he replied around a bite of toast, shrugging casually. "I mean, with _our_ team—" he paused to swallow, "—I don't see how we could lose."

Smiling, she glanced around at all the individual Gryffindor players. "I'm inclined to agree with you," she said, and dug into her breakfast, enjoying the feeling of excitement that was rapidly flooding her system as they neared game time.

She escorted her team out of the Great Hall and to their locker room with a half hour left before they were to play. Darcy was the last one out of her dressing room, taking extra time to focus herself, and prepare for the battle about to take place. When she at last emerged to join her team, all eyes could not help but to turn and stare at their captain. She strode out of her dressing room, looking brilliant and confident in her red and gold robes. The mass of her gold hair had been piled and secured atop her head like a crown, and a royal gleam had appeared in the depths of her cerulean eyes. Studying the way she carried herself with an aristocratic air, there could be no doubt why she was called the Quidditch Queen.

"All right, you guys," she said, seating herself among her team as they performed last-minute maintenance on their uniforms, padding, and gear. "We've made it this far, through rain, sleet, cold, mud, and all other forms of adverse weather—and with only _minor_ complaining."

A few chuckles rose at this.

"But in all seriousness, I want to tell you right now that I believe, deep in my heart, that there has never been a finer Quidditch team at Hogwarts. _Ever_. And I am so proud of every last one of you, I can't even begin to describe it. It won't even matter if we win or lose today, because the greatest pleasure I could ever have is just being able to say that I was your teammate, and I played with the most amazing group of people to ever exist." She paused to smile at them all, receiving six blushing, flattered grins in return. "Though I won't protest at all if you amazing people feel the need to go out there and kick a little Slytherin ass today…"

Cheers erupted from the team as they leapt to their feet, converging around their captain in a circle with hands joined in the middle.

"All right kids, let's hear Gryffindor on three!" shouted Brian. "Ready, one, two, three—"

"**_GRYFFINDOR!!!_**"

A blur of gold and red exploded from the Gryffindor locker room, racing down the darkened wood corridor that led beneath the stands to the field, trailing a cacophony of joyful yells and shouts as they went. Her Nimbus propped on one shoulder, Darcy lingered slightly behind her team, grinning. No matter the thoughts that had been plaguing her mind over the past weeks—and months—she couldn't help but feel enrapt by the excitement and enthusiasm of Quidditch.

Up ahead, her team had disappeared from sight, though she could still _hear_ them just fine, and with a laugh, she broke into a jog to catch up. She rounded sharply a bend in the corridor—and nearly smashed into Oliver, skidding to a halt mere centimeters from the Keeper, who was standing, pale and motionless.

"Merlin, Ollie, what on earth are you—?" she started to demand, when his ashen-faced appearance came to her attention. He was gazing uncertainly down at his shoes, and when she spoke his name, wide chocolate eyes rose to meet her curious stare.

"Darcy…" he managed at a mere whisper.

Concerned, the captain reached out and took his chin in her hand, examining his features with a studious eye. "Oliver, you don't look too good. Are you sure you're…" That was when she noticed the slightly green tint to his flesh, and the way he was now swallowing compulsively. With a startled yelp, she had just enough time to jump out of the way as the fourth-year promptly vomited all over the front of his robes. He gaped at her, mortified.

"Guess you were a little more nervous than you thought, huh?" she mused, suppressing a smirk. He could only give a tiny squeak in reply. Somehow managing to ignore the unpleasant acidic odor of vomit as it assailed her olfactories, Darcy produced an easy smile as well as her wand and said cheerfully, "No matter. _Clotha Cleanlius_!"

A burst of white bubbles exploded from the tip of her wand, attached themselves to Oliver and wiggled their way down his soiled uniform, making him feel like a thousand tiny fingers were tickling over his body. Then they dissolved away, and his robes were spotless once more.

Satisfied, Darcy smiled, and motioned him to follow her. "C'mon, we'll be late!"

For a moment, he failed to move, stunned as he watched the shapely shadowed female figure hurrying down the corridor. Then his senses returned to him and, jogging to her side, he muttered, "Darcy, I am _so_ sorry…"

"Ah, don't be," she laughed, shoving a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. "It's just nerves. I'll tell you a secret—Toby's first year playing as Chaser, he used to throw up before _every_ single game, one time all over the rest of us. At least you managed to avoid that."

"Only because you jumped," Oliver replied mournfully. His cheeks reddened as images of him throwing up all over the beautiful Seeker played repeatedly through his mind's eye.

Catching his expression and accurately predicting his train of thought, she pulled the Keeper to a stop and scolded him teasingly, "Hey, come on now, Oliver. Don't beat yourself up just because you're a little scared. It's happened to all of us at some point, believe me. You think I was this confident _my_ first time playing? Please! I was a terrified little second-year, who'd somehow managed to catch the attention of the amazing, godlike Charlie Weasley, and suddenly I was on the field with hundreds of fans screaming at me. Needless to say, I was a _little_ uneasy."

A look of alarm was growing within the chocolate depths of the fourth-year's gaze. With a touch of trepidation, he queried of the captain, "What happened?"

She shrugged. "I simply reminded myself that I was chosen for a reason, because I was _good_ at playing Quidditch, and that all those people were there to watch me _because_ I was good at playing Quidditch. I couldn't bring myself to disappoint several hundred people who'd all come out to see me play. So I played, and I played well, and we won, and I haven't been scared since."

"Yeah?" he said hopefully.

"Yep. And I wasn't nearly _half_ as talented as you when it came to pure skill and natural grace, so I don't know _why_ you're worried. People are going to be blown away when they see you today," she confided, flashing a brilliant grin. Lowering her voice as though sharing a conspiracy, she added, "Truth be told, I think Kotter's a bit jealous that he's no longer the golden god and main attention-getter of the Gryffindor team."

At last Oliver laughed, reassured as he always was by the blonde's confidence and wry wit. "I _hardly_ think I'm a golden god."

They started up the corridor again, toward where the rest of the team was now visible waiting for its two final players. Her elegant head thoughtfully inclined, Darcy seemed to reevaluate her youngest teammate, then nodded precisely and said, "You're right. You're _not_ a golden god. You're _definitely_ pure diamond. And you know what they say…"

Smiling slightly, he fed into her prompt and replied, "What's that?"

Glorious mirth glittered in the sapphire depths of her eyes as she answered smartly, "Diamonds are a girl's best friend." She left him then, as they reached the rest of the team, and she moved past them all to take her spot at the front of the group. The large wooden gate that would admit them to the field had not yet been raised, but began a slow, creaking ascent as the Quidditch Queen reached it, her timing perfect as ever.

She waited till the gate had lifted completely, blinking at the sudden flood of sunlight that bathed she and her team as they prepared to take the field. "All right, kids," she said, a smile tracing across her lips. "Let's go kick some Slyth ass."

With that, she mounted her broom, and soared into the clear, dry November sky. It had turned out to be a marvelous day for the first match of the year; all the previous night's rain had left the world seemingly cleansed and fresh, with a pleasantly warm breeze trickling in from the north. The Quidditch Stadium was an explosion of color, with every single resident of Hogwarts seated up in the stands, except for the fourteen players and Madam Hooch, the referee. In addition, many of the villagers from Hogsmeade had turned out for the game, sporting the colors of their favorite teams. Darcy was delighted to note the startling majority of red and gold.

Both the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams made several warm-up laps around the stadium while the game's commentator, Gryffindor second-year Lee Jordan, gave his opening remarks.

"And welcome to the first game of the season! We've got an exciting match in store today as Gryffindor takes on Slytherin!" He paused a moment as various cheers and jeers filled the air for the two opposing teams. "Righto, and the two teams are taking their positions at centerfield as Gryffindor Captain Reed and Slytherin Captain Flint shake hands."

Darcy glided forward toward Marcus Flint with an expression of cool indifference cemented to her visage, pointedly ignoring the leer that occupied the face of her opposite number. With Madam Hooch carefully observing them from below, the two captains shook twice, and as Darcy swiftly moved to free her hand from Flint's sweaty grasp, she found herself locked in the grip by the Slytherin, his grin more vile than ever.

"How 'bout a little wager, Reed?" he offered, voice so low that only she could hear.

Pumping the proper amount of disgust into her tone, she replied, "What could I _possibly_ want from _you_?"

"What about the password to the Slytherin common room?"

Try as she might, she couldn't help but feel intrigued, though a touch of suspicion still lingered strongly at the back of her mind. "You would actually give me the password to the Slytherin common room, if we win?" Flint nodded. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," he replied, with a surprising amount of honesty—for a Slytherin. "If you win, the password's yours. I'll give it to you as soon as you've got that Snitch in your hands. _But_…" The wicked grin was suddenly back, his horrifically crooked teeth more prominent than ever as he added, "If _we_ win, you have to publicly break up with Kotter at the end of the match and go out with me for a week."

__

Trading one devil for another, she mused to herself, though she hardly feared having to live up to the terms; there was no way Gryffindor would lose. So she let a smug, determined smirk sweep over her features as she replied, "Deal."

Flint's own grin widened. "By this time tomorrow I'll know just what those famous curves of yours feel like."

A slight shudder hit her spine at the thought of the Slytherin's hands invading her body, but she managed to hide it and instead answered sharply, "By this time tomorrow, _I'll_ be watching Fred and George Weasley load up your dorm with all the nasty little pranks and tricks they can think of. Hope you enjoy sharing your bed with creatures as wretched as yourself." She jerked her hand out of Flint's before he could react, and swept quickly back into position with the rest of her team, but not before catching his last scathing remark.

"What, are they going to smuggle _Kotter_ into my bed?"

Despite her better judgement, she actually felt inclined to agree.

"What was _that_ about?" asked Brian, as below them Madam Hooch proceeded to lay out the rules and expectations of the game, something all the Gryffindor players save Oliver had come to know by rote.

"Do me a favor, Bri," said Darcy, glaring over at a smirking Flint. "Every single chance you get to bust up Marcus Flint—take it."

Brian grinned. "Aye-aye, Captain."

"—on my whistle!" Madam Hooch gave the familiar wooden crate a swift kick, allowing the Bludgers and Snitch to escape up into the air. The Gryffindor Seeker's eyes locked instantly on the tiny gold orb, her pulse racing, her muscles painfully tense as she waited for the shrill blast of the whistle that would release her after her target. From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of red as the Quaffle was flung up into the air—and then came the whistle, and she was off like lightening.

Higher and higher she climbed, up above the tallest towers of the stadium, nearly eighty feet above the ground. Below her, the game had commenced with a fury, and as her eyes roved for a glint of gold, she let her ears take in the running commentary of Lee Jordan.

"Gryffindor Chaser Toby Resner with the Quaffle, racing up the field—dodges a Bludger sent by Slytherin Beater Bole—Resner slips past Flint—OUCH! That had to hurt, Resner takes a Bludger to the face by Slytherin Beater Derrick. But Gryffindor Chaser Loren LaRose recovers the Quaffle—he's past the Slytherin Beaters—inside the scoring area—Slytherin Keeper Bletchley dives for it—_GRYFFINDOR SCORES_!!" An explosion of cheers from Gryffindor's supporters washed over the field, with only a minimal amount of competition from the moans of the Slytherin fans.

Hovering above the action, the blonde Seeker let a smile touch her lips. Barely a minute into the game, and already they'd scored. She wondered if Flint would keep his end of the bargain once Gryffindor had won…

A flash of gold from the left brought Darcy instantly to attention. There! She'd seen it: the Snitch was hovering around near the bottom of the Gryffindor goal posts. She rolled into a sharp dive, swerving sleekly around a Slytherin Chaser who was attempting to block her. _This is almost too easy_, she mused as she stretched out to grasp the fluttering gold orb, her fingers mere centimeters from its surface—and she had it! She spun in midair, ready to soar back into the sky and above the crowd to show off her acquired prize… when suddenly her world jolted down into horrible slow motion, and with wide blue eyes, she watched tragedy unfold before her.

Oliver had turned to watch her in her swift bid for the Snitch, completely unaware of the Bludger that had been hit squarely at him. With all the force of a freight train, the Bludger smashed into the side of his head—and knocked him right off his broom. From over sixty feet up, he was now falling, with nothing but the rock-hard earth below to catch him.

A kind of liquid panic flooded Darcy's body, and she was in motion before she could even pause to consider it, urging her broom into a steep dive as she angled herself beneath the plummeting Keeper. Only a few feet above the ground, her toes skimming the grass, she came to a stop, just as Oliver fell into her lap. Many nights in the future, she would look back and try to understand how she managed to catch and hold onto the fourth-year, who was easily three inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than the lithe female Seeker. The physics of the situation would never be made clear to her, but the point was she'd caught him safely in her arms, and who ever had done this to her Keeper would rue the day…

Brian appeared at her elbow, carefully helping her lower Oliver's motionless body to the ground, as the world around the female Seeker resumed its normal speed. "—okay, Darcy? Are you okay?" came Brian's slightly startled voice.

"I'm fine," she insisted, and hopped off her broom, taking the unconscious boy's head into her lap and ignoring the flood of teammates, supporters, and teachers that were now crowding in around her. Taking Oliver's face gently in her hands, she stroked her fingertips over the smooth flesh of his cheeks, urging him softly, "Come on, Ollie. Wake up. Wake up and look at me. Tell me you're okay. Wake up, Oliver. _Please wake up_…"

And slowly, as if swimming up through the depths of some deep ocean of unconsciousness, his eyes fluttered open and, after a moment of wavering confusion, honed in on Darcy's smiling visage.

"Hey sweety," she whispered.

"Darcy?" His lips quirked up into a weak smile, one hand finding its way to her face. He sighed. "Merlin, you are _beautiful_…" And then his eyes fell shut once more, and Oliver Wood was out for the count.

A voice filled with quiet authority spoke gently from above her shoulder, "If you will allow me, Miss Reed, I will escort the young Mr. Wood to the infirmary while you and your team take a moment to celebrate your victory." Professor Dumbledore gave a slight wave of his wand, and instantly Oliver's body lay across a stretcher, floating lightly over the ground. With Professors McGonagall and Sprout leading the way to part the crowd, the three teachers guided the downed Gryffindor player out of the stadium.

The red-clad Seeker stood, questions, comments, and congratulations pouring in from all sides as she continued to stare after the receding stretcher and its injured passenger. At last she snapped back to reality, and a single word fell from her lips. "_Who_?"

Standing nearest the Gryffindor captain, Keely glanced anxiously around at her fellow teammates, as though sharing a secret, unspoken communication with the other four players. In a calming gesture, she placed her hands lightly around Darcy's shoulders and began, "Okay now, DC, we _are_ going to tell you, but you've got to promise not to do anything rash…"

"**_Who_**?" Darcy insisted again, but before any of the Gryffindors could explain, a smug voice emerged from the back of the crowd.

"Not half bad, Reed," said Marcus Flint, grinning maliciously as he shoved his way toward the blonde captain. "That was quite the save you made. Would you do the same for me if _I_ fell off _my_ broom?" He took in her scowling expression, then mused, "No, I suppose you wouldn't. Too bad, really. Guess next time I'll have to hit _myself_ in the head with a Bludger. Maybe then you'll touch me like you do Wood—"

Flint's nose gave a tremendous crack as it met with Darcy's fist, sending a spray of blood down both their robes. With a squawk of protest, he folded his hands up over his shattered nose and stared uncertainly at her, caught between surprise and hostility.

"_You bastard_," were the only words she could get past her lips, her entire body quivering with pent-up ire. It took all her strength not to hit him again. "_Leave_."

Cautiously he eyed her, and the bloodied fist still balled at her side, ready for another strike. For once, the Slytherin captain decided not to tempt fate. Petulant and sulky, he gave her one last belligerent glare and stalked away to tend to his injury.

The crush of people around her had started to ease up; everyone was giving the angry Gryffindor Prefect room to breathe. Even her teammates seemed wary in approaching her, until at last Brian sidled up next to her and queried gently, "Darcy? Hun? Um… are you… like… okay? Because you hit him pretty hard…"

Darcy stared down at her bloody right hand as though seeing it for the first time. This was also the hand she'd caught Oliver with, while her left had clung to both broomstick and Snitch. A slow throb of pain had started in her overtaxed right appendage. Absently, she mused, "My wrist hurts. I'm going to see how Oliver's doing," and she wandered off toward the castle, leaving her bewildered teammates to stare after her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Righto, hope you smiled, laughed, growled, cheered, gasped, and otherwise enjoyed this latest (slightly delayed) addition of **Fixing to Fly**! All input is, of course, appreciated, and again my apologies on the long wait. You guys are the best, my readers and reviewers!!

My continued love and thanks ~ Adele


	22. Waking Up

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Twenty-Two

Author's Note: All right. That's it. No more deadlines. Every time I post a bloody deadline, real life feels the need to leap in and smash it all to hell. I don't know what to say, besides I am seriously, honestly, from the bottom of my little heart sorry for taking so long with this chapter. For some reason I'll never know, my HP muse decided to take a vacation on me. Add to that school, and the fact I've been working 20 hours every week for the last couple weeks, and you've got one tired, grumpy little author with no spare time. I really am sorry that it's taken me so long to publish this; I hope you all haven't lost your affections for this story, because there's still so much more to come! And it only gets better. (In my opinion, anyway.) Again, I apologize for my absence, and fall to my knees pleading you, dear reader, to still read and enjoy my story. *Adele grovels* Reviews would be nice, too. *Adele grovels some more* Okay, I'll let you get to Chapter Twenty-two, so you can decide whether the wait was worth it.

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For a long moment, Brian Keeler stood, contemplative, at the end of Oliver Wood's hospital cot, studying the attractive blonde who lay fast asleep at the side of the Keeper. She was slumped forward in her chair, one folded arm serving as a pillow as she slumbered on the edge of the bed. Her other arm, the wrist of which was splinted and bandaged, was flung protectively over the chest of the unconscious fourth-year. Brian couldn't help but smile as he examined the scene, though he still debated between waking the girl and letting her sleep.

Luckily, that decision was made for him.

"What do you want, Brian?" said Darcy suddenly, without opening her eyes or shifting from her position.

The Beater started. "You're awake?"

"It would seem that way, wouldn't it?" she replied glibly, and lifted her head off the mattress, giving her gold curls a quick jostle with her fingertips as she stretched her cramped shoulders. A yawn swept over her—and was abruptly cut short when she burst into giggles at Brian's mystified expression. "What?"

"Are you like, a mind-reader now or something, brat?" he teased, despite his bewilderment.

"No. You just breathe really loud," she shot back, then rolled her eyes. "I woke up when the infirmary door opened, and I knew it was you when you got closer because I can smell that horrific cologne you insist on marinating yourself in." She wrinkled her nose slightly and feigned a sniffle for effect.

"Hey, I _like_ how this cologne smells," he protested.

"And I like the way coffee smells, but you don't see me dousing myself with it every morning," replied the Seeker smartly.

Brian grinned. "Nah, that would be a waste; you just hook it right into your veins and bite the head off of anyone who tries to communicate with you before you've been infused with two cups' worth," he said and, noting the slightly homicidal gleam in the blonde's eyes, quickly went on, "Everybody missed you at breakfast this morning. It was probably a good thing you weren't there, though; Kotter was being really bitchy and Keely was making it worse by provoking him."  
"And this is new?" she said, one silky gold eyebrow cocked in skepticism.

Laughing his agreement, the Beater said, "Yeah, no kidding, huh? But seriously, it probably wouldn't have been as bad if you'd have been there. What can I say, girl, you've got presence."

Darcy's brilliant blue eyes suddenly narrowed as she studied her friend. "Okay, Bri, that sounded suspiciously like a compliment, and you only compliment me when you want something from me or when you're about to tell me something I'm not going to like. So which is it?"

"You know me too well, DC," he chuckled, but the sound was without mirth.

"Yeah, and I also know you're stalling, which means you've got something to tell me," she countered, as a twinge of anxiety made itself known in the pit of her stomach. Staring steadily into the handsome male seventh-year's emerald eyes, she pressed, "_Brian_… what is it?"

Brian sighed deeply and seated himself on the edge of Oliver's bed, facing Darcy. Taking her hands within his own, he began, "Sweety, this morning… well, I noticed that people have started to talk."  
"People always talk," she quickly replied in a tone of practiced nonchalance.

"Well, yeah, DC, no offense, but you're not usually the topic of their conversations," he replied with a sympathetic smile. "And… well, I think there's actually some truth in a lot of what's being said."

"_Brian_!" Darcy jerked her hands from his grasp as though she'd been burnt.

"Hold on now, babe, listen to me a second before you start yelling. It's not like they're calling you a slut or claiming you've got a third… _boob_ or something." She shot him an annoyed glance at this, but said nothing. Brian took it as his cue to continue. "People are just starting to wonder why their Head Girl has spent the last week forsaking food, sleep, studies, and friends—including her _boyfriend_—to sit at the bedside of a very unconscious but otherwise unharmed Oliver Wood. You told me yourself, Darce, he's only got a concussion. He's just… taking a little longer to wake up from it, that's all. Some guys have more stamina than others."

The Seeker regarded him with an unamused stare. "It's disturbing how you turn even the most chaste and mundane topics into sexual references," she told him pointedly.

"And _you_ are trying to change the topic," he shot back, poking a finger into her shoulder.

Slapping at his hand, she demanded, "What? What do you want me to say, Brian? Yes, I've been spending a lot of time in the infirmary! But I've managed to finish all my homework no differently than usual, I'm getting _plenty_ to eat, and I've been sleeping just fine—"

"In your own bed?"

Darcy opened her mouth to answer, but after a moment, her gaze wandered away toward the ceiling and she replied noncommittally, "I sleep in my bed."  
"Did you sleep there last night?" He grabbed her chin in one hand, forcing her to meet his eyes as he studied her, and before she could answer, he said, "No. No, you didn't." The blonde chose not to respond to this, evoking a weary sigh from her friend. "Darcy, what's going on here, huh? This isn't like you."

"I'm concerned for my teammate! How is that not like me?" she protested with irritation.

"Darcy…" A look of deep concern swept over Brian's features, and suddenly it was _he_ who was unable to keep her gaze. His emerald eyes fastened to the floor, he said softly, "Darcy. I saw your face, when Oliver fell. I saw your eyes."

Slowly she shook her head, filled with uncertainty. "Brian, I don't—"

"Dammit, Darcy, listen to me." His voice was calm, but filled with an intensity that was startling, instantly silencing the female Gryffindor. "I _saw_ your eyes when Oliver fell. Darcy, if you hadn't already had that Snitch in your hands… you would've let us lose the match, just to save him." He nodded at the fourth-year's prone form. "You could've let him fall, and I don't think he'd have been hurt any worse than he already is. But you dove for him, and somehow, you caught him, even though you damn near knocked yourself off in the process. Now I'd love to think you'd do the same for _any_ of your Gryffindor teammates, but…" At last he met her gaze, and could tell from the flash of guilt in her blue eyes that he need not complete his thought. Instead he said, "I know you _do_ care about your teammates very much, I'm not questioning that. But I also know that I've been stuck in the infirmary before with Quidditch injuries, and you didn't sit by _my_ bed for an entire week, and I'm your best friend."

The Seeker could only stare blankly at Brian. "I don't know what you want me to say here. I don't—I don't know what you're trying to get out of me."

Sighing, Brian said, "You're still not seeing it, are you? Can you _not_ see what's right in front of your face? What all the rest of us have already seen? _You're in love with Oliver Wood_."

As her jaw did a slow drop toward the floor, she attempted to protest. "I—how could you—I would _never_—I don't even—" She forced herself to stop, and fully collect her thoughts, before starting again more slowly, "Brian, I _cannot_ love Oliver Wood. I _do not_ love Oliver Wood. It's just not possible, okay?"

Brian stared back at her, unconvinced.

"Okay, so maybe Kotter and I have had some problems. Maybe I don't love _him_… but I can't love Oliver either! I mean, it just wouldn't work."

"Why wouldn't it work?" he interjected, folding his arms over his chest.

"Because…" For several moments, she searched her mind for a viable reason, but drew only a blank. Flustered, she at last snapped back, "Because it just wouldn't, okay?"

To her exquisite annoyance, the Beater burst into laughter. "DC, you are _hopeless_, you know that?" he related between snickers, ruffling a hand through her blonde curls and further agitating the girl. "But I shouldn't make fun of you. Love can make people do crazy things…"

"I'm _not_ in love," she began to protest, but her friend's attention had wandered elsewhere—specifically, to an innocuous-looking, rather battered old book laying along with the other gifts and get-well cards on Oliver's bedside table. Wide-eyed in surprise, his gaze flickered to the Seeker.

"Darcy… that's not your copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_, is it?" he demanded, and grabbed for the object in question before she could react. Flipping through the dog-eared pages, many of which bore the particular feminine scrawl of Darcy's own handwriting, he answered his own question, "It _is_. Girl, tell me you're not going to give this to Oliver?"

Primly the female Gryffindor pursed her plush pink lips.

Again Brian laughed, this time in sheer amazement. "DC, this is your most prized possession in the universe. Your brother gave this to you for your second birthday—"

"First," she corrected.

"—and I've never seen you without it. You _love_ this book! Are you actually going to give this to him?" He closed the text and ran his fingers over the worn green leather cover a last time before at last relinquishing it back to Darcy, who hugged it delicately to her chest. "Damn girl, you've really got it bad for him, haven't you?"

"I just want to show him that I appreciate his friendship," she answered testily. "Besides, I've practically got the damn thing memorized." She ran her fingertips affectionately over the familiar gilded gold lettering on the cover, smiling at the book as she would an old friend. Absently, she added, "It's survived sixteen years with me now, and I think it's finally time to pass it on to someone who will enjoy it as much as I have."

Brian smiled warmly at his friend—before promptly belting out in a singsong voice, "_Darcy and Oliver, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G_…" and suddenly he found himself on the business end of Darcy's wand.

"One more word and I will slam you _so_ hard with a tickling charm," she warned darkly, and when he opened his mouth as if to test her resolve, she muttered threateningly, "_Rictus_…" But before _sempra_ could pass her lips, he'd leapt to his feet and sprinted halfway across the infirmary.

As he reached the double oak doors, he called over his shoulder, "Well, suppose you don't need me hanging around. I'll see you at practice this afternoon!" and disappeared into the hall.

The blonde-haired Seeker sighed deeply and let her head fall once more to the bed, face hidden within the hollow of her folded arms. She adored Brian like a brother, she truly did, but some days it took all her will not to bludgeon the life out of him with a Beater's club. _And him accusing me of being in love with Oliver_, she mused, rolling her eyes. So she enjoyed the fourth-year's company. So she spent a lot of time with him. So she had dreams about the chocolate-eyed Keeper. So she was giving him her most prized possession. So she had kissed him. That didn't mean she was in _love_ with him.

"Nah. I couldn't be…" she murmured to herself, as exhaustion began a slow creep back into her body. As Brian had guessed, she'd spent the previous night in the infirmary, positioned much the same way as she was now. She'd woken at least once an hour to check on the unconscious fourth-year—adjusting his blankets, fluffing his pillows, running a cool, damp cloth across his smooth brow. Each time she ran her fingers tenderly through his hair, she waited for those familiar brown eyes to flicker open, and that charming smile to slip across his face. And each time he failed to twitch so much as an eyelash, she would remember that moment on the Quidditch field a week earlier, when he had called her beautiful, and suddenly she knew she would wait an eternity for Oliver.

Darcy dozed off with a smile on her lips as she dreamt of her Keeper…

…and jolted back awake as long fingers traced through the locks of her gold hair. As she sat straight up in her chair and wildly eyed her surroundings, a wonderfully familiar—if not slightly raspy—chuckle reached her ears. "I didn't mean to startle you, Darcy."

At last the blonde looked down at her unconscious friend, and found him not quite so unconscious after all. In fact, Oliver was very much awake, and beaming a positively brilliant smile at her. She felt a grin of her own spread rapidly across her features. "Hey, you," she said softly, reaching out to take his hand within her own. "It's about time you woke up."

"Likewise," he teased, his voice a low croak. He made a face and attempted to swallow a few times. "Merlin, which one of you medical geniuses decided it was in my best interest to perform a Drying Charm on my throat while I was out?"

"Very funny, Mister Comedian," she shot back, though the sarcasm was lost in light of honest pleasure in her voice. "If you can find the power within yourself to keep quiet for a few minutes, I'll get you something that should make you feel a little better."

Oliver responded by clasping both hands tightly over his mouth.

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a departing playful smack to the arm before hurrying off to a nearby supply room. She busied herself gathering and mixing the various ingredients of a Restorative Potion while her mind ran in circles over the emotions that were trying to flood her body. She could feel her heart racing inside her chest, a not-entirely-unpleasant flutter tingling through her stomach. It was almost as if… good god, she wasn't… she wasn't _giddy_, was she?

She gave the goblet of potion a final stir and emerged into the infirmary to find her patient propped up in his bed, calmly waiting for her reappearance. He flashed her a glowing grin as she approached and for a moment Darcy's head spun.

__

Love of Merlin, I **am** giddy! the though rose in her mind, and she had to bite down hard on her tongue to keep from bursting into giggles. Instead she forced herself to focus on Oliver, and the slightly smoking glass of pale blue liquid she grasped in one hand. "Drink," she said simply, and thrust the potion at him as she slipped into the familiar contours of her bedside seat.

He eyed her "gift" warily. "Do I want to?"

"Mmm, probably not," she answered with a laugh. "But it _will_ ease your sore throat and eliminate any residual vertigo or nausea from your concussion and extended unconsciousness."

As she spoke, Oliver downed the concoction, finishing off the last drops with a cough and a grimace. "Whoa. Nasty," he began, but paused at the sound of his own voice, now returned to its clear, healthy norm. He touched his throat with mild awe, nodding his satisfaction as he added, "But effective." He glanced at Darcy, who was watching him with an affectionate smile. "What are _you_ smirking about, Quidditch Queen?"

"Nothing at all," she replied and, almost unconsciously, reached out to enfold one of his hands within her own, stroking his flesh with her thumbs. "Just… glad to have you awake."

For a moment, he stared uncertainly down at his hand, before a slow smile crept over his own features. "I'm glad to _be_ awake," he said softly, and with his free hand, he swept his fingertips lightly over the Seeker's soft cheek. He waited for her to pull away, to distance herself as she always did when they got a little too close… but this time, she kept his gaze, brilliant blue eyes staring right back into his rich chocolate ones as his hand lingered on her face. It was only when he noticed the brace encasing her right wrist that he at last broke the connection. "Oh my god, Darcy, what'd you do?"

Glancing down at her own injured appendage, she laughed. "What, this? This… is part of a long story that, actually, I should probably tell you now that you're awake," she mused. "But first, would you like to take a guess how many days you were unconscious?"

"Whoa, whoa… what do you mean, _days_?" demanded the Keeper, frowning. "It's still Saturday, right?"

"Well…" She let her gaze wander to the ceiling, afraid that if she watched his expression much longer, she'd burst into uncontrollable giggles. "It _is_ Saturday. Saturday the tenth, though, not the third. Congrats, Ollie, you've officially been a space cadet for a full week."

Caught between shock and skepticism, he stared at her. "You're kidding me."

The Gryffindor Prefect feigned offense. "Now why would I do that? I've had to spend the past week using our reserve Keeper during practice, who isn't _half_ as good as you, which means that all my other players' performances were compromised, which means we're actually _regressing_ in our skill level, which is _not_ a good thing, seeing as we play Ravenclaw in just two weeks, and—"

A single finger fell gently upon her lips, effectively silencing the girl. "Okay, DC, I think I get it," he teased lightly, then blew out a slow breath. "Wow. Seven _days_. How could I… I mean, how did it happen?" He gazed questioningly at his companion.

She began to answer, then paused, contemplating the best way to explain the events that had taken place on the Quidditch field. Finally, she queried, "What's the last thing you remember?"

A frown creased the fourth-year's brow. "I remember… watching _you_ grab the Snitch, and then I started to cheer… but then I got this sharp pain in my head, like something hit me…"

"That would have been the Bludger," she provided.

"Ahh, that makes sense now." Oliver nodded as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place within his concussion-addled memory. "After that, I remember feeling like I was falling, and things went black for a moment, and then…" a smile crept slowly over his face. "And then I saw you, and I knew I was going to be okay. And that's the last thing I remember before just a little while ago, waking up with you asleep."

Darcy let a grin of her own tug up the corners of her lips. "Well, you didn't miss much—on the field that day, _or_ over the past week. What happened was, you got hit in the side of the head with a Bludger, which knocked you off your broom. You _did_ fall, about fifty feet or so, but I managed to do a nice little mid-air catch—you're bloody heavy, by the way—and get you to the ground safely. That was when you woke up the first time, and after you blacked out again, Dumbledore took you off the infirmary, and since then, life has gone on at its same dull, uneventful pace." All this was said with casual nonchalance, finished off with a shrug, as if astounding mid-air saves were part of her daily routine.

However, the fourth-year who'd been the subject of that particular feat was _not_ so blasé. "You… you caught me…" he said slowly, eyes wide and jaw unhinged. At the blonde's slight nod, he added in a barely audible whisper, "_You saved my life_…"

"I wouldn't go _that_ far—" she began to argue.

"No, Darcy, you did," he insisted, as a gauntlet of emotions battled for control of his features. "You—you could've fallen yourself—I could've broken your arms, when you caught me—I could've… I could've _killed_ you…" A touch of panic had set into his voice, as scenario after horrifying scenario played through his mind, all ending in a single image: the beautiful young woman before him, lying deathly still on the ground of the Quidditch pitch, her limbs twisted to unnatural angles, her flesh ashen and cold to the touch. Almost impulsively, he reached out to capture her face within his hands, as though she would somehow slip from this world into the terrible dream that had invaded his thoughts, if he did not hold onto her. Tone thick with emotion, he demanded, "Why did you do that, Darcy? That was so stupid, why did you do that for me?"

She blurted out, "Because I couldn't let you get hurt! Because I… I…" the words died on her lips, tears suddenly pooling on her lower lashes as she became lost in the liquid depths of his rich mocha eyes. She could feel the warmth of his hands, pressed against her flesh, and through that contact, she could sense the thoughts racing through his mind; he wanted to kiss her, desired it with an intensity that was nearly overwhelming.

Her tongue snaked out to glide over her lips as she became aware of their proximity, of Oliver slowly leaning in to meet her even as her own body seemed to shift forward without her mind's urging. She would kiss him because he wanted it… she would kiss him because _she_ wanted it, too. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her flesh, and a soft butterfly touch against her bottom lip as they met at last. Darcy closed her eyes—

"Well, I see you're up and around, Mr. Wood. Though I get the notion that _my_ efforts had little to do with your recovery."

The two Gryffindors started, both jerking apart as they spun to view the intruder of their intimate moment. Madam Pomfrey stood with arms folded across her chest, an expression of weary amusement on her aged features.

Attempting damage control on the situation, Darcy produced her most charming smile and offered, "I'm pleased to report that our patient is conscious and responding normally to outside stimulus." She heard Oliver snort a laugh at this.

Madam Pomfrey surveyed them both with a dubious expression. "I'm happy to hear that, Miss Reed. Maybe now you'll be able to spend a night dozing in your _own_ bed, rather than propped up at Mr. Wood's bedside?" she queried wryly.

For the first time since he'd known her, Oliver witnessed a pink flush rise in the female seventh-year's cheeks, though it faded just as quickly as she shot a smirk back at the nurse. "Maybe. So do I get extra credit or something in my Magical Medicine class for all the extra hours I've put in this past week?" Darcy replied cockily.

Slowly shaking her head, Madam Pomfrey sighed. "We'll see, Miss Reed."

They waited until the nurse had disappeared once more into her office before both breaking into laughter. "You've been awake for less than half an hour and already you're getting me into trouble," the blonde teased, serving her companion a playful punch to the shoulder.

"So you've been spending nights at my bedside, huh?" Oliver countered smartly.

"I'm not having this discussion with you," she replied pointedly, a smile quirking her lips as she rose lightly to her feet. "In fact, I should probably go let the rest of the team know you're awake, now that I'm sure your brain's not permanently damaged…" she paused, considered the Keeper, then amended, "Well, _almost_ sure, anyway…"

"Ooh, you're just lucky I've been unconscious for a week," he shot back with a laugh, shooing the girl away with a dismissive wave. "Go on, get out of here, you prat."

Darcy paused in the doorway of the infirmary, much the same way Brian had earlier, and grinned mischievously at him. "I've missed you too, Ollie," she said, then dashed out into the corridor, sprinting all the way to Gryffindor Tower to spread news of Oliver's revival.

The fourth-year's gaze lingered on the door until he could no longer hear her steps echoing along the marble hall, then he relaxed back into his pillows, contemplating the stacks of get-well cards and gifts on his bedside table. It didn't take him long to locate Darcy's contribution among the various boxes; he instantly recognized the green leather-bound book before even glimpsing the gold-embossed title. He frowned, gently drawing the book into his lap as he fingered the worn cover. Had she forgotten this? He couldn't imagine she had; Darcy _loved_ the book.

Curiously, he slipped open the cover, and found two separate messages scrawled across the first page.

__

To my baby sister DC,

Every good Quidditch player should have at least one copy of this book. This one's for you, babe. You're my shining star.

Your brother, Jaime

Beneath this message, which was slightly faded and written in the untidy scribble of a definitively male hand, a second, newer transcript had been, the text done in a flowing feminine longhand that Oliver identified as Darcy's. He read and reread her message until the words were seared into his mind, a running mantra that played continually in his thoughts as he drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

__

To the Keeper of my heart,

Every good Quidditch player should have at least one copy of this book. This one has served me well, and I can think of no more deserving a recipient than you. You're my diamond, Ollie.

Yours, Darcy

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And there it is. What do you think? No promises, but now that my muse is back, I should have Twenty-Three out relatively soon, as my schedule allows. We're getting _very_ close to the big blow-out that'll change poor little Darcy's life… her love life, that is. ;)

Oh yeah. As further penance for my extended hiatus, I've also published the first chapter of the Draco fic I've been working on, entitled '_To Break A Snake_.' I'd absolutely love ya forever if you could go check that out and tell me what you think. Even if you're not a Draco fan, I think you'll like it, as my new character Reilynn insults Draco and kicks his butt for about ¾ of the fic. But, yeah, I'd really appreciate the input of you wonderful readers on that story, if you would be so kind. :)

My love and respect to you all, as always ~ Adele


	23. Darcy's Mistake

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Fixing to Fly

Chapter Twenty-Three

Author's Note: This one's a bit short, I know, but oh-so-vital to the events soon to come! Ooh, I'm so excited about the next couple of chapters; all the good stuff you've been waiting for is just around the corner! Eeep, I best stop now, otherwise I'll give the best away! Mucho love once again to my most amazing readers and reviewers. You didn't have to wait a whole month for a chapter this time!! Yay! And I want to strongly encourage you all when you get done reading this to go check out the works of the wonderfully talented Carlyn here on ff.net. She's been one of my best friends and the most amazing author I know for the longest of long times now (like, third grade) and I know you'll all thoroughly enjoy her works. Also, if when you get done here you're in the mood for a fun Remus-centric fic, go check out my new story, _Jade Eyes_, and let me know what you think! Okay, enough babble. Chapter! Go!

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The wadded ball of parchment hit Keely directly between the eyes, and for a moment, Darcy almost forgot to breathe in light of her effort to keep her hysterical laughter silent. At the other end of the table, the chestnut-haired Scot gave her friend a venomous glare that promised later vengeance before returning to her Muggle Studies essay. As her giggles died away, the Head Girl stared down at her own roll of parchment, disenchanted. She'd been attempting to write her Transfigurations paper for the past three hours, but for reasons unknown, she found herself completely unable to focus.

Well, perhaps for reasons not _entirely_ unknown.

It was Friday. Oliver had now been conscious for six days, and out of the infirmary for three of those. As the fourth-year returned to his classes, rejoining the hustle and bustle of mainstream Hogwarts life, Darcy found herself settling back into her own routines, albeit in markedly improved spirits. Even _Kotter_ seemed to be in a better mood, if only because she was no longer spending all her spare time in the infirmary. But she doubted how long he would stay cheerful, especially after she told him the news she'd learned only a few hours prior.

Professor McGonagall had caught the Gryffindor Prefect on her way back from dinner and officially charged her with tutoring Oliver, in order to catch the fourth-year up in the classes he'd missed during his stay in the infirmary. Darcy had accepted the task with the air of cool dignity and responsibility expected of her, completely belying the exuberant flip-flops her insides were doing. She now had an airtight, perfectly legitimate reason to spend her evenings with Oliver…

A mischievous smile slipped easily across her lips as she envisioned Kotter's reaction to this. _Maybe he'll burst a blood vessel from yelling and be reduced to a permanently vegetative state_, she mused, then laughed at her own morbidity.

"I fail to see what's so funny about a 25-inch paper on the origins of protomorphic transfiguration," came a brooding, slightly whiny voice, and Darcy glanced up in time to find none other than Kotter flopping himself ungracefully into the seat next to her.

__

Speak of the devil, she almost said aloud, stopping herself only at the last minute. Instead she carefully trained her features to casual neutrality and queried, "How was your day?"

The Gryffindor Chaser growled low in his throat and ran a hand roughly through his blonde curls. "I don't even want to talk about it," he muttered, then immediately began, "Bloody Trelawney gave me a detention today. Said I wasn't taking the class 'seriously enough' and that I was 'clouding the Inner Eyes' of the other students. _Please_. I don't think _anybody_ takes that class seriously. And like anybody in that damn class has an Inner Eye; _she_ doesn't even have an Inner Eye, crazy old bat…"

As Kotter continued his tangent against the Divinations professor, Darcy let her mind wander off and, as usual, her thoughts soon turned to a certain chocolate-eyed fourth-year. They'd gotten into a playful argument that afternoon during their shared fourth class study hall, debating over who knew the Weasley twins better. She had at last admitted a reluctant defeat after Oliver tickled her into submission. When she told him she'd let him win for reasons of pity, he'd promptly laughed and kissed her on the tip of the nose. _You're so cute, Darcy_, he'd said with a grin.

Now she distastefully eyed the individual seated next to her, her so-called boyfriend, who was still complaining bitterly about the inequities of his life. _When was the last time **he** called me cute?_ she pondered darkly, suddenly annoyed with the grating nasal quality of his voice. _When was the last time he even complimented me at all?_ Her lips curved into a frown as she fell away into her own sullen thoughts, nearly missing the question Kotter posed to her as at last he completed his tirade.

"—was your day, babe?"

Through sheer luck, she managed to pick up her end of the conversation without missing a beat. "Oh, it was fine. Unremarkable for the most part. Magical Medicine class first thing in the morning, then Charms, then lunch, then finished the day out with a rousing session of abuse from Snape during Potions. Then I hung out with Oliver during my free class this afternoon—" she stopped abruptly, realizing her error too late.

But to her surprise, Kotter only rose a curious eyebrow. "Oh really?" he replied, his upbeat tone sounding remarkably authentic. "How is everyone's favorite Quidditch prodigy today?"

"Doing fine," she said cautiously, keeping a careful watch on her boyfriend for any signs of an impending outburst. "Madam Pomfrey told me this morning during class that he's allowed start practicing with us again on Monday."

"That's music to _my_ ears. I've been going about crazy this week, practicing with the reserve Keeper. I mean, don't get me wrong, Drew Ralleigh is a great guy and all, but when it comes to skills on the Quidditch field, he's still got a lot of room for improvement. Definitely doesn't match up to your boy Wood. I have to admit, he was a good choice on your part, my smart little Quidditch Queen." He grinned affectionately at her, giving her jaw line a gentle brush with his fingertips.

For a long moment Darcy could only stare. Who was this man and what had he done with her boyfriend? Had he just _complimented_ Oliver Wood, the boy he considered a rival for her affections, who'd been the topic of countless arguments between them? More amazingly, had he just complimented _her_?

She sat silent for so long that a look of concern soon crept over Kotter's features, prompting him to query, "DC? Hun? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm, ah… fine," she said at last, rediscovering her voice amongst the fog of perplexity that was still trying to claim her mind.

"So… what about Wood, then? Do you think his skills have improved any since he first started practicing with us? Personally, I think he's made a lot of advancement in terms of his defensive strategies," he remarked conversationally.

Again the female seventh-year felt the nearly overwhelming urge to stare in open-mouthed, wide-eyed shock at the stranger sitting next to her. Since when did they have civilized conversations about the on-field improvement of their teammates? In the thousand or so times in the past when she and Brian had rattled on about Quidditch, Kotter had never shown the slightest hint of interest in joining in the conversation. And now he wanted to chat about Oliver no less…

Despite the ripple of suspicion rolling around her interior, Darcy decided to proceed with his chosen topic of discussion and, carefully selecting her words, she gave him her opinion of their Keeper's developmental progress. To her exquisite shock, he listened to her every word with rapt attention, something he hadn't done in a long time, and she soon found her tension easing a bit as she rediscovered the attentive, considerate Kotter she thought had disappeared several years ago.

When she finished, he nodded thoughtfully, an easy smile still spread across his features. "You know, believe it or not, I didn't really care for Wood much when you first had him join the team. But you probably guessed that, huh?" he laughed lightly.

"I think I caught a hint or two," she replied, the first traces of her own grin twitching up the corners of her lips. She still couldn't quite believe this sudden reversal of Kotter's attitude, but it _was_ a pleasant change of pace, for once. Maybe someone had secretly slipped a Cheering Draft into his supper…

He was smiling at her again. "Yeah. But the funny thing is, the more time I'm around him, the more I'm starting to like him. He's a pretty good guy, right? Well, you'd probably know more about him, you've spent more one-on-one time with him—not that it's a bad thing," he added quickly, just as Darcy thought she'd at last found the flaw in this friendly conversation.

"He's an amazing individual," was her simple response, as the idea that he was under _some_ sort of potion became more credible in her mind. His next remark seemed to confirm it.

"Why don't you tell me about him? I've wanted to make an attempt at friendship with him—to make up for the monumental jerk I've been, you know—but I don't really know what he likes, or how to approach him. Maybe if you tell me what it is you like so much about him, it'll make it easier for me?"

__

Will the night of surprises never end? the blonde Seeker nearly blurted out, yet again befuddled by the contradicting words of the bad-tempered control freak she thought she knew. _Well, I can't very well blow him off… he asked so nicely_, she rationed as the side of her that seemed so determined to constantly forgive Kotter made itself known. Her more skeptical persona immediately countered, _But if you really, honestly tell him what's he's asking for, he'll have **months** of ammunition against you for arguments_.

For a full minute, the battle of Darcy's wills raged on inside her head while Kotter waited patiently, seemingly content to let her ponder for a bit. It was her desire to at last discuss Oliver with someone other than Brian that finally resolved the argument, and before she could have second thoughts, she soon found herself spilling all the wonderful things about Oliver Wood. For nearly an hour she talked, feeling amazingly unburdened as she shared with Kotter her thoughts. The only thing she failed to bring up were her feelings of attraction for the fourth-year, though if Kotter was truly listening, she doubted it would have been hard for him to guess. Maybe this was what he needed, what they _both_ needed, to let go of their crumbling relationship on amicable terms.

She fell silent only when her throat was to dry to speak any longer and the threatening glares from Madam Pince the librarian were becoming dangerously murderous.

"Well," Kotter mused, shooting her a quick grin. "You've definitely given me a lot to think about. If you don't mind though, babes, I think I'm going to head off for the night, and let _you_ get back to that wonderful essay I see you've worked so hard on." He indicated the mostly-blank sheet of parchment still resting in front of her.

"Okay," she agreed, though her own thoughts were quite far from her Transfigurations paper as images of her comfy four-poster with its warm, velvety covers suddenly filled her head.

He rose to his feet, brushing a quick kiss over her brow. "Night, DC. See you tomorrow."

She echoed his sentiments, "Goodnight," and as he started away for the door, she bent over her belongings and began piling them back into her bag, deciding to save the task of her essay for a later date. With her back to Kotter, she never saw the look of dark malevolence that had sprung into his features as he exited the library.

The gravity of her mistake would not hit her until it was too late.

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Hmm, methinks me smells trouble! What thinks you? ;) Drop me a review and lemme know! And if you haven't already, go check out my Draco fic, _To Break A Snake_, as well as the new _Jade Eyes_. I know, I know, shameful self promotion, but what the heck. I already know you readers and reviewers are absolutely wonderful people, so I _definitely_ want your opinions on my other works as well as this. My thanks in advance!

Cookies! ~ Adele


	24. Strike Three

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Fixing to Fly

Chapter Twenty-Four

Author's Note: Wow. Just realized that I write a _whole_ lotta author's notes. Oh well. This chapter: It's the big one! And all I have to say is, drama drama drama! You need a box of Kleenex nearby as you read this, as I needed several as I wrote it (probably because I have a cold ;). And I just want to say another huge thanks to all the wonderful people reading this. I've got a good handful of repeat reviewers, and you all know who you are, who are just _the_ most amazing, supportive, patient people ever, and I will forever be in your debt for the kindness you've paid me. That said, I give you the only gift I can: a new chapter.

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Hidden in the shadows of the Quidditch stadium, the predator waited, sharp eyes focused on the chocolate-eyed boy standing beneath the goal posts. Oliver was tending affectionately to his broom, clipping away stray twigs and smoothing a polish over the fine grain of the handle. He was completely unaware of his precarious situation, and the slight smirk that lit the face of his stalker as he gazed absently off at something in the distance.

This was the moment. The prey was distracted. Long, agile limbs propelled an athletically-muscled body out of the darkness, sprinting powerfully toward the oblivious Keeper. Oliver never saw it coming, until…

Darcy pounced upon the fourth-year like a playful feline, tackling him backward to the ground. She used the element of surprise to her advantage, managing to pin his arms down before he could react, and as she sat lightly straddling his chest, she grinned brilliantly at her subdued Keeper. "Pinned ya," she announced as Oliver regarded her with a sort of startled amusement.

"Only because you cheated," he shot back as he tested the yield of his blonde-haired captor, flexing beneath her grasp. Both knew it would take only a slight effort for him to free himself, despite the strength of Darcy's Quidditch-toned body, but he made no move to do so, apparently content with having the elegant seventh-year poised atop his torso.

Feigning offense, she protested, "I do _not_ cheat, Mr. Wood. In fact, as your teammate and captain, I find the very _notion_ that I would cheat an outrage, and demand you apologize this instant."

He grinned impishly. "What if I don't?"

"I don't believe you're in a position to deny my requests at the moment," she replied smartly, letting the silk curtain of gold hair fall around her face, "seeing as, at any given moment, I could simply do this." And instantly her fingers found his ribcage, running frantically up and down his sides as Oliver cried out in protest.

"Hey! N-no f-fair!" he managed to gasp between fits of laughter, his attempts to gain a hold on her wrists continually unsuccessful as she merely increased the rate of her tickling torture. Finally he gave up, and yelled out weakly, "S-sorry, I'm sorry!"

Just as swiftly as she'd pinned him, she was back on her feet and holding out a helpful hand to the fourth-year who lay grasping his aching abdomen. "It's getting rather late," she remarked conversationally as she pulled him up and straightened his rumpled Quidditch robes. "We'd best hit the showers, don't you think? I've got a twenty-inch paper due tomorrow for Charms that I haven't even started, so I'll probably be up half the night writing that. And I'm surprised _you_ aren't dead on your feet yet, Ollie. You really went all-out tonight, for only your first practice back."

"I _am_ dead on my feet," he countered as he plucked his abandoned broomstick from the ground. "I just hide it really well."

Darcy laughed, leading the way into the locker rooms as she enjoyed the company of her favorite fourth-year. Even now, over a week after he'd come out of his Bludger-induced coma, she still found herself amazed at how much she had missed him in his absence. At the doorway of the locker room, she gave him a playful shove then darted in before he could catch her, dodging away to hide behind Brian.

"If you think I'm going to protect you, DC, you're sadly mistaken," commented the Beater, though he was grinning as Oliver at last found his way into the room.

She emerged from around her friend, shaking her head sadly and clucking her tongue. "There's loyalty for you." Giving him a passing punch to the shoulder, she turned her attention to the Keeper, who was smirking in amusement at his two teammates. Darcy glared at him. "All right, prat, get out of here. I want to see you looking perky and alert first thing tomorrow morning, understand?"

Exaggerating a bow, he replied cordially, "As you wish, your Royal Quidditch Highness," and hurried off to the showers before she could retaliate.

The room's only other occupant, Kotter, watched this entire exchange with an almost-peculiar disinterest and, without a word, he gathered up his uniform and pads and disappeared out into the night. Brian watched him go with a single curiously raised eyebrow before trading a look with Darcy, the Seeker having seated herself to strip off her shin guards.

"Is it just me, or has he been acting a little creepy lately?" he queried, slicking a hand through his freshly-showered brown hair.

Glancing up from her task, she frowned and replied, "Mmm, I don't know. He has been kind of quiet, hasn't he?"

He nodded. "Have you talked to him lately?"

"No, not since…" A thought suddenly struck her and sent her stomach lurching for the floor. Anxiety settled into the back of her mind like a bad toothache.

Noting the changes in his friend, Brian quickly prodded, "Since what, Darce?"

"Since…" and she told him about her and Kotter's library chat of the previous Friday night, and all the thoughts on Oliver she'd foolishly spilled to him. She'd had many a misgiving afterward about that conversation, and a constant sense of unease she'd been unable to really put a finger down on, a transient wariness she couldn't quite flush from her system.

As she finished, Brian shook his head and fixed her with a concerned expression. "That was _not_ a smart thing you did, DC. I know you know that now, but still… damn it. I don't like this at all. Something's not right here."

"Oh Bri, you're just paranoid," she countered in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone.

"Am I?" he replied sarcastically, a touch of annoyance entering his voice. "I mean, after all, we're just talking about _Kotter_ here, the guy who's managed to verbally abuse you, control you, and stab you in the back on _countless_ occasions. But hey! What the hell! Let's just give him the benefit of the doubt for the millionth time and then act totally surprised when he proves to be his usual asshole self."

The sharp cynicism of her friend sliced straight to Darcy's core, throbbing like an open wound. She stared up at him with hurt in her sapphire eyes.

As quickly as his fit of anger had come, it soon passed, and Brian's hardened scowl melted into an apologetic smile. "Oh honey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I'm just tired of seeing you bow down to that bastard all the time, when you've got a perfectly good guy waiting just a few feet away." He nodded in the direction of the shower room, where the sound of running water indicated Oliver's presence. "It's just… frustrating, okay? Especially since I _know_ how close you are to getting away from him." He let his hands fall to her shoulders, gently kneading the tense muscles there. "I'm sorry, Darcy. Forgive me?"

She glanced at him upside-down, a hopeful smile twitching at the corners of her lips. "You really think I'm close to getting away?"

"I _do_," he affirmed, then paused a moment to let her confidence rebuild before adding in a more serious tone, "But just be careful for a few days, okay? Paranoid or not, I'm still not keen on Kotter's behavior right now. That guy's like a cobra; you never know when he's going to strike." He leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead. "I gotta go."

Sighing, the Seeker replied, "Yeah. Me too. Got that Charms paper to write."

He gathered up his equipment, shooting her a last smile as he stepped out of the locker room. "Just remember what I said, huh? I'll see you tomorrow, DC."

"Night," she replied, and after a long moment spent staring thoughtfully at the ceiling tiles, she at last shuffled off into her dressing room, trying to shake the feeling of foreboding that had settled itself into the pit of her stomach.

***

Darcy's vision blurred as she scribbled her name untidily across the top of her finished Charms essay. Around her, the Gryffindor locker room was filled with shadows, only a single flickering torch giving any illumination to the girl as she collected her scattered books and returned them to her backpack. A long, squinting glance at her watch revealed the time to be a few minutes after two, and she was glad she'd chosen to stay in the locker room to complete her essay. If she'd been in the library, Madam Pince would have kicked her out hours ago, and she would've had to attempt to concentrate over the clamor of the common room. Now her only true task left was sneaking back into the castle without being noticed, which she'd done enough times it no longer proved a challenge for the seventh-year.

Snuffing out the torch, she took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dark before sneaking out into the night, her pack slung low over one shoulder as her hands kept her robes closed against the chilly air. Keeping to the shadows, she managed to arrive undiscovered at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

"_Aureate scarlet_," she whispered to the Fat Lady, who snorted and woke with a start, blinking owlishly at the midnight-oil-burning seventh-year.

"Whatever you say, dear," the portrait murmured back, and promptly commenced snoring as Darcy crept her way into the common room. The fire slowly dying in the hearth cast a soft red glow across the room, creating a world of shadow quite similar to her previous locale, the locker rooms. If it hadn't been for the slight sound of sniffling from a nearby couch, she would've passed obliviously up to her dorm, unaware of the lone Gryffindor left in the common room.

The noise elicited a startled little jump from the Seeker, and instantly she began scrolling through a repertoire of excuses for her late entry… but every last word died on her lips when her gaze met the sight awaiting her on the couch. Grasping for her wand, she directed it at the nearest torch and muttered, "_Incindiare_." Flames instantly danced to life across the room as every last torch was illuminated.

The figure on the couch blinked at her with irritation. "Wha' choo do tha' for?"

"Oliver?" she gasped, appalled at the haggard state of her friend. His skin was ashen save for the dark bruises lurking under his eyes, which were bloodshot and bleary as he goggled up at her. In one hand he held a bottle to which Darcy didn't even have to guess the contents as the strong smell of alcohol hung off the fourth-year like a haze. She gaped at him, caught between confusion and rage. "What are you _doing_?!?"

Lurching unsteadily to his feet, he poked an accusatory finger at her, spilling droplets of his drink across the floor in the process as he slurred, "_No_, the queshon is, what're _you_ doin'?"

Caught off guard, she stuttered, "Well, I-I ah—"

But Oliver continued on as though she'd never spoken. "One minute, yer actin' like ya love me, an' you know somethin'? I liked it. I liked it cuz I like _you_. Somethin' special, that's wha' you are, Darcy. Pretty an' smart an' funny an' jus' what a guy like me could want. An' the best part? I actually believed you liked me back! Tha's funny, huh? But now I know the truth, an' I know what you _really_ think. That Kotter, he may be a big stupid git, but at _least_ he told me the truth." He paused to take another drink of his liquor, grimacing at the taste.

The uneasy feeling that had been lurking about Darcy's belly all night at last exploded into full view, and something like slow fire began to spread through her veins as horrible pieces of realization fell slowly into place. "What did Kotter tell you, Oliver?" she demanded.

Frowning at her, he snapped, "_You_ know wha' he told me. _You_ told _him_, an' he told me _everything_, every nasty little detail. He told me everything…" he trailed off, and a devastated look came over his young features as tears sprung to his chocolate eyes. He moaned, "Oh god! I can't believe… why would you do tha' to me, Darcy? Huh? I thought you _liked_ me…" The fourth-year flung himself forward, forcing her to catch him as he began to sob in earnest.

As his moans and wails filled the air, she again took out her wand and quickly cast a silencing charm over the whole of the common room. Then she looked down at the boy in her arms and suddenly felt sick to her stomach; she was almost certain what had caused this disaster, what had pushed Oliver to this end… but she had to hear the words. To be sure. Again, in a softer voice, she whispered down to the distraught Keeper, "What was it Kotter told you?"

He lifted his head weakly off her shoulder, gaping at her for a moment as though she'd just asked him to describe the painful death of a family member. Slowly, through hitching sobs, he related, "He told me… that you think I'm a pest… that I only ever bother you with stupid questions about Quidditch… an' that you think I'm just a dumb jock… an-an-an' I have no _depth_… an' that I follow you around like a stupid lost puppy… an' that you're _disgusted_ by my crush on you… that you said you'd never _ever_ in a thousand years love me back…" and he broke into sobs once more, crumbling back into Darcy's arms.

The sickening feeling in her stomach worsened as her worst fears were confirmed, but it was nothing compared to the slow ache that had settled into her heart. She now knew exactly what Kotter had done: he'd taken every nice, sweet thing she'd said about Oliver that Friday night, and he'd twisted them all into a pack of terrible, destructive lies. And somehow, he'd convinced Oliver that it was all _true_…

"You-you don't understand," she tried to explain, but a lump had developed within her throat and refused to be swallowed down. "I never _said_—"

"Oh no. Oh no." He staggered suddenly away from her, a fearful expression coming over his features as he gazed desperately around the room. "I think I'm gonna be sick…"

Immediately she was in motion, dragging the drunken fourth-year into the nearby bathroom and to the toilet, and just in the nick of time. Oliver fell to the floor, hugging the porcelain bowl as the contents of his stomach made a swift, violent reappearance. The Quidditch captain winced against the bitter, acidic smell of vomit as it filled the small space, forcing herself to take slow, small breaths through her mouth. At last he was down to dry heaves, and collapsed exhaustedly to the cool tiles of the floor as she stepped in to flush the toilet.

"Why… why…?" he whimpered, fresh tears cutting a path down his pale cheeks.

A short, shuddery little gasp escaped Darcy as she kneeled down and gently took his head in her lap. She rocked him slowly, brushed her fingers through his wisps of soft hair and, leaning close to his ear, she whispered, "Listen to me, Oliver. You've got to listen to me. All those things Kotter said… they were lies, okay? Just lies." Her vision blurred as tears of her own suddenly caught on her lower lashes.

"_No_…" he moaned weakly, shaking his head.

Desperately she insisted, "Yes! Yes they were, Oliver. Because you know what? You know what I told him? I told him… that you were amazing. I told him that I have never met anyone so intelligent, and that people who think you're just a… a 'dumb jock'… they don't know the real you, because you're brilliant. And I _love_ that you ask me questions, and _listen _to me, like what I have to say is _important_." She paused, swallowing away the emotions attempting to overcome her. "And I told him… I told him that I have _never_ been more flattered to have the affections of a guy as I am with you, because… you could have any girl in this school, Oliver, you know? And you chose _me_… I don't know why… I don't deserve it. But you did, and you don't know how much it means—how much _you_ mean to me. Oliver, I… I…"

He blinked slowly up at her, those gorgeous chocolate eyes wet with tears, and a hand crept up to touch her cheek. She could feel his pleading thoughts: _Say it, Darcy. Just say it_.

"I… _I love you, Oliver_…" she whispered, and in that instant, a weight lifted off her shoulders, a burden she'd been carrying for five long years fell heavily away. She inhaled deeply, as though she'd never breathed before, and said it again, more certain this time. "I love you, Oliver Wood. I love you."

A lopsided smile found his face, his eyelids drifting shut, and as he faded off into the world of sleep, he murmured, "I knew it…"

A single tear drop fell upon his face, but this time it belonged to the gold-haired Gryffindor gently cradling the boy as he slumbered. And there she remained all through the long night, as her Keeper slept off the terrible nightmare her own ignorance had caused. When the first rays of sunshine slipped through into the cool tiled room, Darcy resolved to repay Kotter for all that he had done.

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All right, there she is. You _must_ write me a review and let me know what you think, as this is one of the events I've building up to for some time now. Well, I suppose you don't _have_ to write me a review… but I will personally perform a traditional Irish dance for anyone who does! Plus, believe it or not, reviews keep me motivated, as they feed my muses. And a well-fed muse is a productive muse! Also, I would really _love_ to hit 200 reviews within the next two chapters or so. Wow, I never thought I'd be saying that: me with 200 reviews! *Adele goes momentarily light-headed* Again. Wow. And of course I never would've got there without all you awesome reviewers! Absolutely spiffing, you all are!

Lots o' love and virtual hugs to you all ~ Adele


	25. The Showdown

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Fixing to Fly

Chapter Twenty-Five

Author's Note: Oooh, I'm so excited! This chapter is so cool! It took me a bit to write though; I had to decide _exactly_ how I wanted to do it. But I think you'll like it! And it's the least I can do for all you amazing, brilliant people. You know something? You all astound me. I did not even _consider_ possibly getting to 200 reviews by this chapter, let alone 212! Do you know how completely awesome that makes me feel? I just want to give a huge cyber hug to every last one of you, for being so unbelievably sweet and supportive. You guys really are amazing. And now, for the chapter that you (seriously) have all been waiting for. This one might turn out to be another tear-jerker too, by the way, so be prepared. I seem to be writing a lot of sad, dramatic stuff lately. But you still love me, right? ;)

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**SPECIAL NOTE: Adele (that'd be me) has finally gotten her lazy butt around to paying for her ff.net account, which means that now, if you so choose, you can add her to your Author Alert list. This means that every time she updates any of her three stories, or adds a new story, you will get a special e-mail letting you know, so you can rush right out and marvel over her new masterpiece of literature (as, of course, she knows you all do ;). THANK YOU!**

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A shadow among shadows, she lurked outside the Gryffindor common room after breakfast, waiting. She knew he would come; he had first class free today, the same as she. He would come back to skulk around the common room, harassing first-years and contemplating whatever things cold, heartless bastards contemplate. He would be here soon, and then… well, she hadn't really thought that far ahead. But she was positive she'd know exactly what to do when the moment came. For once, she had no hesitations about letting her emotions be her guide.

She'd taken Oliver up to his dorm while the tower was still quiet, before anyone else had risen for the morning. A simple levitating charm had aided her in this venture, allowing her to leave the boy peacefully asleep as she escorted him to his bed. After tucking the covers lovingly around his shoulders, she'd grazed a soft kiss across his brow, pleased when a faint smile crept across his face. Then she'd crept into her own room to feign the act of sleeping.

Darcy stifled a yawn as she continued her wait, kneading at the sore muscles in her back. No sleep and having sat up all night in an awkward position made her short-tempered and irritable—which, she had to admit, would likely come in handy when Kotter finally arrived.

Footsteps echoing up the empty stone corridor sent a surge of adrenaline through her body, banishing all thoughts of sleep in the blink of her sapphire eyes. But when the approaching stranger at last rounded the corner, it wasn't Kotter's broad, muscular frame stalking down the hall, but the lithe blonde build of Terence Higgs, Slytherin Seeker. She watched his timid progress with confusion, uncertain whether she was glad or not that it wasn't Kotter. Either way, it was wholly odd for a Slytherin to be so far out of his domain, and she couldn't help a glimmer of curiosity as he at last reached the Fat Lady's portrait.

She regarded the smallish Slytherin as though he were an abomination to humanity. "And _what_ form of trouble are _you_ up to?" she drawled, glaring down at him.

From her shadowed corner, Darcy could see Terence wringing his hands nervously, his eyes darting back and forth like he expected a lynch mob to arrive at any moment. "Um, begging your pardon, ma'am. Sorry to disturb you. I was, ah, wondering if… m-maybe you could get Darcy Reed for me? I need to, er, talk to her about, ah… Quidditch things…" he stammered.

The Fat Lady sniffed indignantly. "Miss Reed is out at the moment, though I doubt she'd ever deign to speak to the likes of _you_."

"O-oh. Okay. Um, thanks. Sorry. Thanks. Yeah. Good-bye." He turned swiftly, ready to run back down to the safety of the dungeons, but found himself instead running smack into the girl he'd only seconds earlier been requesting. Darcy had emerged from her hiding place, her interest in the blonde Slytherin overriding her desire to wait broodingly in the shadows for Kotter.

"You okay, Terry?" she queried lightly, untangling herself from the younger Seeker as he gaped up at her. "You were looking for me?"

"Ah… um… yes?" he managed.

The Gryffindor Prefect sent a quick glance around the corridor; it was empty, for the moment, but hardly the place to seek privacy. She gazed back at the Slytherin. "Okay. C'mon. We can sit down in the common room, and you can talk to me about… Quidditch things, did you say?" Leading the way with a still-dazed Terence in tow, she strode calmly up to the Fat Lady and spoke the password aloud. "_Aureate scarlet_. And please let me know before anyone else enters the common room."

"Of course," was the portrait's absent reply, too busy gawking at the Gryffindor girl as she led a snake into her den. Darcy wondered how long it would take the Fat Lady to rush downstairs and inform her friend Violet of these peculiar events.

After the painting had swung aside, she ushered Terence into the warmth of the Gryffindor common room, allowing the Slytherin a moment to gape around at the space that only those wearing red and gold were supposed to inhabit. At last they settled onto one of the plush couches, and she queried, "So what did you need Terry, now that I've broken all the most crucial of Gryffindor unwritten rules and subjected myself to rather violent repercussions, should anyone happen along?"

"Well, um… yeah. I guess I should start by telling you that it was Marcus Flint who sent me up here, to tell you some things. I didn't just, you know, up and decide to come stalk you or anything," he told her, fiddling anxiously with the knot of his green-and-silver tie.

Realizing this was his attempt at levity, Darcy produced in easy smile, which in turn seemed to relax her Slytherin guest a bit.

Slightly more calm, he continued, "Right. So. Um, I should probably warn you that what I'm supposed to tell you… um, you might be kind of mad. Which is why Marcus didn't come himself, plus the fact he thinks you hate him—"

"And I do," she interjected.

"—and he says he doesn't particularly fancy you giving him another bloody nose. So I'm here, and I'm hoping you won't give _me_ a bloody nose, because I'm just the messenger after all, and I didn't even know about any of this till Marcus told me, and if I _had_ known, I would have told you before hand, because it just wasn't right what happened, and…" He was rambling on, and the tidbits of curious information he was slowly revealing had Darcy's patience shortened to the most minimal of proportions.

At last she placed a silencing hand over his mouth and interrupted, "Ah, Terry? Hi. I actually have classes I'll eventually need to get to today, so I need you to pull yourself together, and tell me what you came here to tell me. I promise not to maim you… though I may have to kill Flint, depending on what it is."

Terence shrugged, seemingly satisfied. "Fair enough. Right. Um… where to start? Okay. Well… I'm sure you remember the day when, ah, your Keeper got… you know…"

"Viciously slammed in the head by your disgusting ogre of a captain?" she supplied.

The green-clad Seeker appeared too lost in his own thoughts to acknowledge her bitter sarcasm. "Yeah, that. Right. Well, you know, after the game then, when they were taking Wood away, and Marcus—"

"Started shooting his mouth off like the repulsive, idiotic bastard he is?"

Cocking an eyebrow, he queried, "Are you going to keep interrupting me?" Swiftly Darcy shook her head and mimed the lip-zipping gesture, indicating he continue. "Okay. So you heard Marcus say what he said. He said it was his fault, that he hit Wood. Well… he _did_ commit the actual act… but Marcus wants you to know that the only reason he did it was because someone asked him to—well, _paid_ him to, that is."

Terence was gazing at her very soberly now, provoking a twinge of suspicion in the girl that rolled around her insides till she felt sick. "Who paid him?" she demanded, fighting to keep her voice steady.

The stammering Slytherin didn't even pause as he spoke a single name, the name she had dreaded he would indeed say. "Kotter."

A liquid tidal wave of rage seemed to envelope her, bubbling up through her insides, into her mind, and bringing a wash of screaming, angered thoughts that filled her like a haze, till her ears rang and a cloud of white obscured her vision. Her fists had balled automatically at her sides, clenched so tightly her fingernails dug into her flesh. She barely felt the sting of pain as ten tiny half-moons of blood welled up across her palms. Somehow she managed to speak, though her voice sounded only as a distant murmur to her own ears. "Kotter paid Flint to hit Oliver."

"Yeah." Terence's tone was grave and surprisingly repentant. "Marcus told me Kotter approached him, right before the game. He gave him ten Galleons on the spot. Marcus says the only reason he did it was because he thought he needed the money. But… and I don't know if you'll believe this part… I know you hate Marcus… but I know him, and he's not the complete and utter jerk everyone thinks he is… well, sometimes, anyway. He saw what you did for Wood, and the look on your face when they carried him away. Marcus said he'd never felt so terrible in his life as he did at that moment, seeing you like that. He wanted to tell you about Kotter—had been _trying_ to tell you, in his own, um… _unique_ way—but then you punched him in the nose. As you might have guessed, he's been reluctant to talk to you since then. So he sent me. Oh yeah, and he asked me to give you back this."

Digging around inside his robes, he produced ten gold coins and dropped them into the numb hand of the Gryffindor Seeker. She stared down at the Galleons—at the dirty money her "_boyfriend_" had paid to have Oliver injured. Then her gaze returned to Terence, and the horror and betrayal in her soft blue eyes made the Slytherin look away.

"Look… Marcus _and_ the rest of us Slyth Quidditch guys feel real awful about what happened. Marcus even convinced one of our Prefects to take ten points from our House. He says he knows he's not exactly a saint… but there are some things even _he_ can't condone, and what Kotter did was one of them."

Darcy just nodded dumbly, still too shocked to speak.

"And Marcus asked me to tell you one last thing. He said he owed it to you, so…" Terence paused and sighed, a sort of reluctant acceptance in his tone as he said, "The password to the Slytherin common room is _serpentine perfection_. It gets changed at the end of every month, so you've got about two weeks to… do whatever you're going to do." He sighed again, then hastily added, "And please don't put anything alive in my bed. _Please_."

At last her vocal cords chose to cooperate, and she managed to reply, "Tell Marcus I said thanks, and I'm sorry about his nose. And thank you too, Terry. It took guts coming up here to… to tell me all that. I guess I just—"

Her thought went unfinished, as it was at that moment the Fat Lady appeared in one of the common room's other paintings, out of breath and looking as though she'd sprinted from the Great Hall. She shot Terence a quick look of disapproval before informing Darcy, "Sorry to bother you, dearie, but that boyfriend of yours is on his way up the hall, and you should probably keep an eye on the clock. First class is almost over; you wouldn't want your House mates finding _him_ in here." Another venomous glare was directed at the Slytherin.

Darcy nodded sharply. "Right. Thanks." As the Fat Lady ran off once more, the Gryffindor Prefect rose to her feet, her control quickly flooding back to her despite the heaviness that now weighed on her heart. But she would take care of that soon enough. She turned to Terence, who was standing now as well, and said, "She's probably right about getting you out of here. We already know what kind of person Kotter is, and I imagine whatever he would do to you would be a lot worse than the entirety of the Gryffindor House combined."

Swallowing thickly, the Slytherin squeaked, "Got a back door to this place?"

To her mild surprise, she felt a small grin slip across her face. "You'll have to thank the Weasley twins next time you see them," she stated, and quickly led him to a large tapestry on the far wall which she pulled aside to reveal a heavy oak door. "This'll put you right outside the Arithmancy classroom; I trust you can find your way from there."

Terence slid out his wand and muttered, "_Lumos_," as he entered the darkened passageway. He paused for a moment, glancing uncertainly back at the female Seeker. "You'll be okay then?"

Again, a hint of a smile twitched the corners of her lips. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Now go; I can hear Kotter talking to the Fat Lady." She carefully shut the door behind him, letting the tapestry fall back into place, and then she turned to face the common room entrance just as the blonde-haired traitor himself stepped in.

A smug smile hit Kotter's lips as he spotted her, and Darcy fought against the sudden nausea that attempted to overtake her system. She had never been quite so disgusted as she was at the moment, and the fierce urge for vengeance that now pulsed through her system was doing little in the way of helping. She forced herself to take deep breaths, and focus on the mantra running gently through her mind: _I am calm. I am in control._

The Gryffindor Chaser ambled casually across the room, eyeing her up and down, with particular interest shown to the gentle swell of her breasts beneath the material of her uniform sweater. Even in her distressed state, it didn't take her much to realize what was on his mind.

__

I am calm. I am in control. I am calm. I am in control. I am Darcy Reed, and no cheap bastard can get the better of me…

His smile had turned to a definitive leer as at last he reached her, and in what he no doubt considered a 'sexy' voice, he greeted her, "Hello gorgeous."

Darcy didn't even hesitate as her fist met strongly with his face, a solid connection to his right eye sending the boy sprawling backward to the floor. And suddenly her control had broken, and every last ounce of rage and betrayal and hurt swelled through her till she trembled with the sheer force of her emotions. Yet her voice was clear and unwavering as she informed the stunned-looking Chaser, "_I hate you, Kotter Baines_."

He gazed up at her from the floor, one hand held gingerly to his eye, and a look of clear astonishment on his features. "What in the name of Merlin—"

"Shut up. You won't talk until I ask you to," she said coolly, and drew out her wand to reinforce this point. "Now you will _listen_ to every single thing I have to say, and you will _remember_ this moment, because it will be the last that I ever speak to you."

Slowly Kotter opened his mouth, as if to protest, and quickly found the tip of her wand resting between his eyes. His jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

"That's right. This has been a long time coming, and I will say every last thing I want to say to you. Because I know what you did. I know what you did last night… and I know what you did before the Quidditch match against Slytherin." She saw a flash of surprise flutter over his features at this and bared her teeth at him in a fierce smile. "Yeah, that's right. Your little hired snake went belly-up on you, and now I know everything. You _paid_ Flint to take a shot at Oliver. You _wanted_ Oliver to get hurt. And then when he recovered from that, you figured out how to hurt him in the worst way: you filled his head with lies. Didn't you?"

She didn't even look up as the common room door swung open, and a handful of her Gryffindor House mates stumbled in. Chatting as they entered, the group instantly went silent as they stood to watch the unfolding scene. Darcy ignored them completely.

Kotter's gaze bounced between the woman above him and the crowd gathered at the door. He forced a nonchalant laugh. "It was just fun, babe. We were just having fun. I gave him a little liquor and we started talking—"

"So you got him drunk then too!" she laughed with sheer amazement. "Love of Merlin, Kotter, you're just all shades of bastard, aren't you? Paying a Slytherin to injure the Gryffindor Keeper, then spreading malicious lies because you can't deal with your own jealousy, and on top of that, getting a fourth-year drunk! On purpose!"

Several more people had joined the growing group by the entrance, and as several gasps of shock rang out, Kotter seemed to realize just what kind of trouble he was in. Weakly, he repeated, "It was just supposed to be for fun."

"No. It was not 'just for fun,' Kotter. You did it because you are a cruel, sick, possessive little man and you're determined to take someone down with you. But it won't be me," the anger had seeped back into her voice, her words clipped and sharp as razors. "For five years, I've let you use me, and parade me, and mock me, and accuse me of all degree of horrible, untrue things. And I took it all, because I thought you _loved_ me, and that you were what was _right_ for me. I was stupid and blind. But somebody finally helped open my eyes. And now I can see you for the disgusting thing you are. You're not even human to me."

Despite the wand still hovering dangerously close to his face, he blurted, "Wait, Darcy, listen to me for a second—"

"No, Kotter. I'm _done_ listening to you. I'm done _with_ you. I never want you to come anywhere near me _ever_ again. You're off the Quidditch team; do _not_ show up at another one of my practices. Get your stuff out of my locker room. And take this nasty little piece of metal back." From the pocket of her robes, she pulled the black velvet ring box, and with one quick flick of her wrist, she'd nailed him in the forehead with his own gift. "Say good-bye, Kotter. Because the best thing you ever had is walking out of your life."

And with that, she spun on her heel and marched up to her dorm room as the crowd of Gryffindors broke into applause.

She had made it to the seventh-year girls' doorway when the realization of what she had just done hit her, and suddenly she was in tears, racked with aching sobs that wanted to tear her lithe frame apart. Vision blurred, she somehow managed to stumble to her bed, where she crumpled like a flower in the wind, every part of her screaming out in devastation.

Footsteps at the door made her curl tightly in on herself, and she'd parted her lips to gasp a hasty, "_Go away_!" when the only voice she ever wanted to hear made the words die in her throat.

"Darcy?" Oliver sprinted across the room, dropping to the bed next to her and pulling her gently into his arms. Using his thumbs to gently swipe away the salty rivulets that cut down her cheeks, he examined her sobbing visage and, sounding as though he could cry himself, he whispered, "Jesus, Darcy…"

She nuzzled into his embrace desperately, needing the contact of his body against her own, comforted by his steady presence. Through hiccuping breaths, she began, "D-did—did y-you—hear…?"

"Yeah. I heard it all. And I am _so_ sorry, baby. If I hadn't come along, none of this would've happened. If I hadn't ruined everything for you—"

"N-no! No… you saved me…" she whispered, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as he stroked his fingers through her soft gold curls. She pressed herself closer into the chocolate-eyed Keeper, till she could barely draw breath. She pleaded, "_Don't let me go, Oliver_…"

"I couldn't if I wanted to," he murmured back, swallowing hard against the lump that was trying to build in his throat. "He's never going to hurt you again, okay? You're mine now. I love you, and you're mine. Okay? You're mine." He grazed a kiss over her forehead, gently rocking the beautiful seventh-year Gryffindor.

For the first time—but certainly not the last—Darcy fell asleep in Oliver's arms.

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*Sniffle* Are you not so totally tear-jerked right now? I know I am… *Sniffle* So tell me… was it all you wanted? I know Kotter hasn't been brutally maimed… _yet_. *Adele laughs evilly* Remember, there are still at least 10-15 chapters left I have yet to write, and let's just say I have plans for our bad boy… But seriously, what did you think? Likey? No likey? I would like very much to hear all your opinions. And I want to send a special thank you to Kate (pokElilpupE) who gave me the idea for having Kotter be to the one to have gotten Ollie drunk. Thanks so much, sweety! You won't _believe_ how much that tidbit inspired! And thanks again to you all, the most amazing reviewers a girl could ever wish for. I'd leave individual thank-yous and messages to you all, but that would require a chapter of its own. ;) Just know how much I adore you all! It is for you (and myself of course) that I keep writing, and push myself to greater levels of, er… writing!

Luv and cyber hugs sent to you all ~ Adele


	26. Late Night Rendezvous

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Fixing to Fly

Chapter Twenty-Six

Author's Note: All right. I warn you now, this has very little to do with advancing the plot so much as it has to do with quelling my urge for a little Darcy/Oliver action. I think this chapter definitely earns its 'PG-13' if not 'R' rating. Not 'NC-17' yet, as they don't "do it" in this particular chapter, but that comes later. ;) In all truth, this is a filler chapter, and my chance to test-drive my skills at writing smutty fluff. Or perhaps it's fluffy smut…? I don't know, you be the judge. Either way, the next chapter will be the Yule Ball, and then Christmas Break after that. Hopefully this will tide over your wonderfully sweet, reviewing souls till I get to the chance to hack out some more.

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Righto, onto the love…

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Dipping her quill into the bottle of glittery red ink, the Gryffindor Prefect stretched out the role of parchment in front of her and began to write.

**__**

Dear Mom,

How's life in London? I know it's been a while since I've written… Okay, over a month. But It's been quite the hectic month for me, so hopefully you'll forgive your beloved Head Girl/Prefect/Seeker/Quidditch captain daughter.

Let's see, if I remember correctly, the last time I wrote, Oliver Wood had just gotten out of the hospital and we were prepping for our match with Ravenclaw. Well… I've a bit of bad news, I'm afraid. Due to personal reasons, Kotter had to leave the team a week before the Ravenclaw match. But, I'm happy to report that I was able to successfully bring one of our reserve Chasers, Angelina Johnson, up to speed, and we made a spectacular defeat over the Raves. The week after that, Slytherin beat Ravenclaw too, so we ended up playing Slyth again for the winter finals. But we won! And by quite a nice point margin, if I do say so myself. (And I do.) Hopefully this bodes well for our chances at the Quidditch Cup in spring; I'm keeping my fingers crossed, at any rate.

How've you and Dad been? Is Chloe excited about starting at Hogwarts next year? Tell her that her big sister is already putting a good word in for her with the Gryff crowd. And how's Jaime? He hasn't written me lately, but I suppose he's been busy as well. You'll have to do me a favor, Mom, and find out what he wants for Christmas so I can actually surprise him this year.

And while I'm on the topic of Christmas, I've decided to go ahead and stay here for the holidays, seeing as it's my last year and everything, not to mention they want at least one Prefect to stay and watch over the students who aren't leaving either. So don't forget to go ahead and forward my presents here to Hogwarts, and I'll make sure mine get to you, too.

Anyway. I know you and Dad are probably curious about how my life's been going lately. Well, on the academic front, I've been keeping busy with classes and studying for my N.E.W.T.s, which I think I'll have no problem acing. And on the personal front…

Darcy frowned as she drew her quill away from the paper. This was the part she hated, the part she never seemed to be able to write. She knew the longer she put it off, the worse it would get, as there was already _so much_ to tell… but every time she sat down with intentions to at last break the news, she'd suddenly lose her will, and the truth would go on, hidden, for another month. Her parents had begun to grow curious, every new letter they sent querying about Kotter. And yet every letter she sent them back still avoided the topic altogether. It was unfair, to both herself _and_ her family, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it…

Intentionally wasting time as she sought once more for the willpower to confess to her parents, she let her eyes wander over to the newest picture amongst the array on her desktop. It was her and Oliver, both in full Quidditch regalia, seated upon her Nimbus '99. The Keeper had his arms wrapped possessively around her waist, her own hands laid overtop his, their heads inclined together as their toes hovered a few inches above the ground. A camera-happy Keely had captured the image at the last game of the winter season, only moments after their defeat of Slytherin—and only seconds before Oliver had planted a very passionate, very _public_ kiss on Darcy's lips. At that point, the gossip over the final battle between she and Kotter had only _just_ been dying down; Oliver's kiss had then opened a whole new wave of knowing smiles and cooed whispers over Hogwarts' newest couple.

She drew the photo to her with a smile, running her thumb affectionately over Oliver's playfully grinning face. There was glint in his eye she hadn't noticed before; he'd known_ exactly_ what he was about to do, and was quite pleased with himself, no less.

__

Oh Oliver, she mused, shaking her head, _what kind of trouble have I gotten myself into with you?_ She was still adjusting to all the wonderful attention the fourth-year lavished upon her—bringing her flowers between classes, dropping random kisses on her collarbone as he passed, sending her owls with notes that simply said, _You're gorgeous, baby. Love, Oliver._ And just when she was certain he could be no sweeter, a house elf would show up at her dorm with a heart-shaped cupcake from "Mr. Oliver." But perhaps the strangest thing, what was taking her the longest to get used to, was that he honestly loved and cared about _her_. Not about the fact that she was Head Girl, or Quidditch captain, or that her family was rich, but that she was Darcy Reed. That, in itself, was a whole new concept for the girl, one that she wouldn't at all mind getting used to.

With a last adoring grin, she set the picture frame back in its place and returned her attention to the unfinished letter, sighing. Now if only she could find the words to explain to her family just how wonderful Oliver Wood was…

She'd begun to absently twirl one of her gold curls around her finger when the sound of the dorm door clicking open brought her to attention. Instantly she grinned, recognizing the unique aroma of Oliver's cologne as it proceeded him into the room. She restrained herself from turning around, or even lifting her head, knowing it would antagonize her chocolate-eyed Keeper.

"Something you needed?" she queried in a tone of nonchalance, feigning exquisite interest in her half-finished letter.

Only centimeters from her ear, his voice was a husky growl as he answered, "Just you." Warm, broom-callused hands dove into her thick curls, drawing the mass of hair aside to make way for the gentle lips that fluttered down her neck. "Every minute… of every day… all the time… _you_." His words came between playful nips along the plane of her collarbone.

"That sounds like a serious problem, Mr. Wood," she mused, enjoying the tingling sensations cropping up along her flesh at every place his lips grazed.

He nodded, resting his forehead against her temple. "Mmm, very serious."

Darcy smirked, unable to resist a giggle as he batted his eyelashes playfully on her cheek. Spinning to face him, allowed her hands to be captured within his own as she queried lightly, "Did you just come up here to play, or was there actually something you wanted, Oliver? In case you hadn't noticed, I _am_ in the middle of writing a letter."

"In fact, I _had_ noticed," the fourth-year replied, smiling mischievously. "But then I got lost in your eyes."

Quirking a skeptical eyebrow, she mused, "What have I told you about stealing pick-up lines from Brian?"

In response, Oliver shot her his most charming smile and kissed each of her fingertips. "Well, I suppose there _was_ some bit of purpose for me coming up here, though I just can't seem to remember what it was…" he continued to kiss along her palm.

"Perhaps if you stopped seducing my appendage and let some of the blood flow return to your brain, you'd be able to remember," she suggested coyly, crossing one leg over the other and forcing the Keeper back a step. He sighed reproachfully, shaking his head at her as he dropped ungracefully down onto the edge of her bed.

"You're no fun."

She waved a dismissive hand at the fourth-year. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Save it for the locker room, Wood. Now get to the point… besides the one in the front of your pants."

Raising a curious eyebrow, Oliver glanced thoughtfully down at the small tent that had been erected in his trousers, then gazed back at Darcy. "That's entirely _your_ fault, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "_Hardly_."

"I think 'hard' _is_ the word, Miss Reed."

"You're obscene."

"I'm in love."

"_Oliver_…" her tone was one of warning at the impending loss of her already-short patience.

He sighed. "Right, right. Just wanted to come up and ask you formally if you'd do me the honor of being my date to the Yule Ball." And from the depths of his sleeve, he produced a single, perfect red rose.

The Gryffindor Prefect felt herself melt. "Aww, Ollie… of course I'll be your date… you didn't have to go to the trouble—"

"_You_, beautiful, are _never_ trouble." He paused, seemed to reconsider this, then flashed her a playful grin. "Well, at least not in my book. I do believe Marcus Flint and the Slytherin Quidditch team would beg to differ."

Trying—and failing—to fix him with a dark glare, she at last settled for a smile and a weary sigh as she told him, "You're a prat, you know?"

"Yes, ma'am. That would be me. Bona fide prat. But I also know you love me anyway, and do you know _how_ I know that? I know that because you—" She leapt upon him mid-sentence, knocking him backward across her bed, her thighs straddling his waist as she placed a long, passionate kiss upon his mouth.

When she finally broke away, she informed him, "You talk too much."

"Muh…" was his incoherent reply. The burning look of desire had taken over the depths of his deep mocha eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing unsteadily as she seated herself directly on his lap. She could feel the heated intensity of his arousal pressing against her through the thin silk of her panties. Darcy grinned mischievously.

She leaned low over the prone fourth-year, her breasts pressing against his chest. Through the material of his uniform sweater, she could feel the individual beats of his heart, fluttering fast and hard in contradiction to her own calm, leisurely pulse. Sinfully and deliberately slow, she ground her hips against his, provoking a low, panting groan from him. She watched as his fingers clenched around the folds of her scarlet duvet, his chocolate eyes rolling back into his head.

"Why, Mister… _Wood_," she purred, continuing her slow, hypnotic torture. "Is anything the matter? You seem… out of sorts, shall we say?"

A weak chuckle escaped the Keeper, his eyes now closed as he squirmed desirously beneath her. "Darcy… I think—oh man… I think you ought to know, I—what are you _doing_ to me? Oh Merlin… I've only been with a few other girls and—god, please don't stop!—I've never gotten beyond kissing and—oh my—and, um… through-the-clothes, um, touching and—oh jesus… definitely never gotten this far…" He lost his capacity for speech as the blonde bent down and began sucking gently at his earlobe, sending wave after wave of indescribable pleasure straight through his body, till a molten ball of liquid lava seemed to gather at his crotch, holding him on the edge, hovering over the border, mere seconds away from glorious, shuddering, screaming, delicious release and—

She stopped, pulled away, and drew herself up onto her knees, hovering over him with a gorgeously glowing smirk on her features. That smirk alone could have finished the job for him, were she still resting upon his hips. But she'd created a gap between their bodies, allowing a flood of cold air to spill over him and quell his libido the minutest of bits.

Frustration written quite plainly on his features, he propped himself upon his elbows, demanding petulantly, "Why did you stop?"

"It's getting late," was her reply as she absently trailed her fingers across the waistband of his trousers, toying with him even still. "And while I'm only reviewing in my Magical Medicine class first thing tomorrow, I have it on good authority that _you'll_ be receiving a very hard pop quiz from one Professor Binns on the events of the Centaur Awareness Convention."

Oliver's brow wrinkled in confusion. "How do you know that?"

"I grade papers for Binns during my fourth class free period," she replied knowingly, "and I don't want to have to mark a big red 'F' on my boyfriend's paper tomorrow." She positioned her features into a delectable pout, the ministrations of her fingertips now wandering to soft flesh just beneath the elastic waistband of his boxer shorts.

Moaning painfully, he protested, "C'mon, baby, don't do this to me… this isn't _fair_…"

"What isn't fair?" she queried in that low, husky voice that was designed for travel straight to the male appendage. "Me grading your papers?"

"_God_, you are infuriating," he proclaimed through gritted teeth, but he'd collapsed onto the bed and wound his fingers into the comforter once more, slowly falling back under the influence of her charms as the liquidy fire sensation began to re-gather in his groin. He was on the edge again, so painfully close to falling over that precipice, and she was holding him there intentionally in mind-numbing, excruciating ecstasy. "I swear to Merlin, you're part Veela."

She let one silky gold eyebrow glide up questioningly. "You think?"

"Please don't make me beg," was his gasped reply, every fiber of his body singing out for release at the hands of his oh-so-sweet torturer. "You know what I want…"

Letting her curtain of gold curls fall delicately around her face as she dipped in to steal a kiss, she whispered, "I love you, Oliver." And as she fiercely claimed his lips with her own, her hand at last slipped into his boxers, and it took only the lightest brush of her fingertips against his fevered flesh to send him spiraling over the abyss of sheer bliss. He cried out her name, his body shuddering with endless waves of pleasure, till he seemed to melt down into the bed, quivering.

"Jesus christ, Darcy… jesus…" he panted as a sticky warmth spread throughout the front of his pants. She'd curled her lithe body up on top of him, her ear pressed against his chest as she listened to the sound of his slowing heartbeat. He reached up to tangle one hand in the lengths of her hair, the other wrapping comfortably around her waist, as he told her, "You're the first girl to ever… you know… for me."

"Good," she replied, nuzzling into the warmth of his body. "I wanted to be."

A sudden, sweeping exhaustion seemed to overtake the fourth-year, who found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open as he laid tangled so comfortably with his beautiful girlfriend. "I should get up," he murmured. "I should go to my dorm and go to bed."

"You should." Her voice sounded groggy as his own.

"I should go before one of us falls asleep… or something…" But he trailed off as he realized he was too late; Darcy was already deep in slumber, her breaths soft and shallow against his chest. And at that Oliver gave into temptation, and let his own mind wander off to join hers in the depths of dreams.

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So what did we think? I know I'm biased, but I think Darcy and Ollie are such an absolutely sweet couple. And all I can say (and I think you'll all agree) is _it's about bloody time!_ ;) Right. Now that I've soiled your fragile, virgin little minds with my dirty writing ;) I best scamper off to begin a chapter with some actual _plot_. As always, reviews are _very_ much appreciated. *hint hint* Not that I ever need to ask you guys; honestly, you're the absolute greatest about giving me positive feedback. Go you guys!

Mucho cyber love to you all ~ Adele


	27. Christmas

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Author's Note: Another two-month wait…. *facepalm* Oy. And I have no excuse this time. I graduated at the beginning of June, and since then, I've done nothing but work, sleep, and bum around on the computer. But here it is—I've finally finished it. However, I decided to skip writing about the Yule Ball. Since I put so much detail into the Halloween Masquerade, I figured it would seem a bit repetitive. So I skipped right to Christmas Break. I think you'll like it though. Oh yes. Almost forgot. This chapter contains more of that ever-wonderful smutty fluffy goodness, so you are forewarned. It is also likely the _last_ chapter that will contain smutty fluffy goodness, as from here we move into more… _angsty_ matters for our dear leading lady, Darcy. Muaha.

Before I release you into this latest installment, I would like to note that this chapter is lovingly dedicated to the wonderful author and writing goddess **Heather** (aka **shewhodares**), who just turned 18 not long ago. As promised, here is the other half of my birthday gift to you, sweety. You've been a delight and an inspiration to me through your fics, e-mails, and reviews, and I can't thank you enough. Happy (belated) birthday.

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She awoke to the gentlest of fingertips, tracing along the length of her bicep and up over her collarbone. As silken lips grazed the curve of her jaw line, she broke into a smile. She shifted closer to the exquisite being whose warm body was curled to fit hers, whose strong arms were wrapped lovingly around her waist.

Darcy sighed. This was the perfect moment. That one moment in time where the world could simply freeze, and she could live forever there, with Oliver. It was like being in another world, some heavenly place, and Oliver… there was no doubt in her mind that Oliver was a gift, sent to her by Buddha or Merlin or whatever deity it was that looked out for foolish blonde girls like herself.

Taking hold of the hand that was currently exploring the flat plain of her abdomen and twining her fingers with his, she let her eyes stay closed as she queried, "And how long have you been awake?"

She could hear the smile in Oliver's voice as he answered. "Oh, ten, fifteen minutes. I've been laying here, watching you sleep. Thinking about how beautiful you are." His free hand crept up to stroke carefully through her hair. Blinking her eyes open, she gazed up at her bed partner, who was staring contemplatively at her. He seemed to be on the same thought wave as she'd been only moments earlier as he mused, "I've decided that you are most definitely an angel."

The corner of her lips quirked up in amusement. "Oh really?"

"Mmm-hmm." He nodded, looking quite self-satisfied. "You are an angel, and you've been sent here to me, to bless my otherwise dull life."

Unable to contain a snort of soft laughter, she said, "You are out-of-this-world adorable, you know that? A little clichéd, maybe, but adorable. And while I sincerely doubt my existence as a divine being, I am, of course, flattered." She leaned forward to drop a quick kiss on the tip of his nose. "And I _hardly_ think your life is dull."

"That's because you're here," he countered instantly.

Darcy emitted a noise that was half groan, half laugh. "Ohh, this is going to end up being one of those circular debates, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah," the Keeper chuckled. "First you'll say my life isn't dull, and then I'll say it's because you're here, and then you'll tell me again that my life isn't dull, and I'll tell you again that it's because you're here, and it'll go round and round till you get mad and start yelling about how stupid it is to argue and I tell you how cute you are when you're angry."

"Can we just skip ahead to that part, so I can giggle and tell you you're a pest but I still love you?" she queried, grinning at his spot-on description of their usual arguments—which, when she thought about it, weren't really arguments at all. What she and Kotter used to have—well, those hadn't really been arguments either, they were out-and-out fights. But she preferred not to think about Kotter who, to his credit, had done a decent job of staying out her life since their last, fateful confrontation.

"Oh wait, I think after that, it's my cue to change the topic, right?" Oliver mused, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Right," she agreed.

"Okay then, how 'bout I change it to… Oh yeah. Happy Christmas, Darcy," he announced, and from the drawer of his nearby nightstand, he produced a small white box with red ribbon tied carefully around it.

The Quidditch captain found herself short of words as she accepted the tiny gift. "Oh Ollie… you didn't…" She tugged loose the ribbon and slipped open the case as Oliver watched her anxiously, his features frozen somewhere between apprehension and delight. When her gaze fell upon what lay inside, she felt her jaw drop. A glittering gold chain supported a miniature replica of the golden snitch, its gossamer wings eternally frozen in an outstretched pose, as if ready to flit away at any second.

"Oh my god…" the words slipped off her lips as a gasp, tears suddenly fighting to crowd upon her lower lashes.

"Do you like it okay?" he asked softly, still studying her features. "I mean, I didn't know for sure, whether to get it for you. The man in the jewelry shop said you'd like it, but… well, you know. I just hoped it'd be okay…"

Choking out a laugh, she swiped at her blurred vision as she replied, "It's more than okay, Ollie honey. It's far more than okay. This is… I've never gotten anything so _beautiful_… and _wonderful_ and-and perfect. I can't even begin to find the words…"

"Then it's just right," he said with a relieved smile, as he carefully removed the necklace from the box. "Because you are beautiful…" he unlocked the chain's clasp, "…wonderful…" and drew it gently around her neck, "…and perfect…" and reconnected it, careful not to catch her hair within the tiny hooks. Then he let the exquisite gold pendent settle on her chest, resting just below the fusion of her collarbones. "There."

Darcy brushed her fingers lovingly across the tiny Snitch before throwing her arms around Oliver, burying her face in his warm, muscled chest. She felt his arms likewise encircle her, drawing her to him. "I love it," she whispered, nuzzling his neck. "Thank you so much."

He gently kissed the top of her head. "You're welcome."

For another long moment she was content to cuddle there, amazed once again that such perfect pauses in time could exist… until a slight giggle suddenly bubbled up through the girl. She could feel Oliver's mouth twitch up into a smirk as he demanded, "What?"

"I just realized I didn't get you anything _half_ as amazing as what you got me," she admitted.

She waited for the wisecrack that was sure to be his response, startling a bit when he pulled away from her, a surprisingly sober expression on his features. "No, you've already given me something a million times better," he told her softly, and reaching again to his nightstand, he drew over an elegantly-framed portrait. From within, a girl with gold curls piled atop her head and a white silk dress flowing easily around her frame leaned graciously into the embrace of an attractive, dark-haired young man in regal black dress robes. They both waved cheerfully up from the picture before stealing a secret kiss. It was she and Oliver's Yule Ball photograph, taken a mere four days prior.

Pointing an indicative finger at her image, he announced, "See her? That beauty right there? She's mine. And there's no other gift in the world that could ever compare."

The tears were back as Darcy tried to wrap her mind around the unbelievable young man in front of her. And he thought _he_ was the lucky one? In an effort to suppress her sudden, overwhelming urge to leap upon the boy and kiss him into his next life, she queried, "How'd you learn to be so romantic, huh? Most fourteen year old boys I know are more adept at pretending to trip so they can 'accidentally' brush against a girl's breasts than they are at charming her with their verbal skills."

He laughed. "I'm mature for my age, you know?" he teased, and after a moment's pause, added, "Which is fifteen, by the way."

Propping herself up on her elbows, she stared at him, her nose wrinkled in almost comic confusion. "No you're not. You're fourteen."

"Mmm, nope. Definitely fifteen," he said, and chuckled again at her expression as he gently lifted a lock of her blonde hair and used it to tickle the tip of her nose. "My birthday's the thirtieth of October, so it has a tendency to be forgotten in lieu of Halloween."

Confusion faded to mock annoyance as she swatted his arm and groused, "I can't believe you let me forget your birthday!"

"And I can't believe you're mad at _me_ because you forgot _my_ birthday!" Oliver replied in protest, though his laughter diffused whatever seriousness the comment might have had. A touch of mischief lit his eyes as he added, "Besides, if you hadn't have been so bloody intent on seducing me with that little red dress of yours, I might have actually gotten the chance to _tell_ you it was my birthday."

She stared coolly back at him. "That's it. I'm going back to my dorm. You're opening Christmas presents on your own, buddy." But she'd only managed to escape so far as to draw back his bed curtains before he grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her to him.

"Too bad. Can't leave," he announced cheerfully to the blonde now seated in his lap.

The corners of her mouth twitched into a smirk. "Do you really want to get yourself into another _rictusempra_ battle, Mr. Wood? Because I think we both know who won the last one."

Smiling, the fourth-year replied, "I did," and planted a light kiss upon her lips—which instantly turned to something more passionate when she coiled her arm around his neck, locking him in place. She allowed his tongue to sneak past the barrier of her teeth and tangle with her own, enjoying the silky texture and unique taste that was wholly Oliver. At last she brought the moment to an end when his hand began a slow creep up beneath her tank top.

Nimbly she slipped out of his grasp, ignoring his frustrated groan as she moved to the end of the bed, easing open the drapes so he could observe the stacks of presents awaiting him. "Hurry up, Ollie," she prompted, "and open these, so I can get to what's waiting for me in _my_ room."

He sighed and crawled down to meet her, accepting the brightly-wrapped box she offered him with an affectionate smirk. "Some days I honestly wonder why I tolerate you."

"Hey." She leaned forward and swiftly delivered to him another quick kiss. Then, blue eyes glittering, she mused, "This isn't over yet."

***

The snowball nailed Oliver solidly in the back of the head, exploding in a spray of twinkling white crystals and forming a fine layer of frost over his tousled brown locks. Slowly the fourth-year turned and glared up at the smirking blonde female, posed atop a nearby snowdrift. Her triumphant voice drifted down, "I _told_ you it wasn't over yet!"

He gaped back at her. "I thought you meant us _snogging_ wasn't over!"

Laughing, she shook her head at him, clucking her tongue playfully as she replied, "Silly boy. And I thought _I_ was the blonde of this operation."

"Ohh, that's it." Instantly he launched himself up the slope and charged after the girl as she let out a startled yelp, scurrying off across the snowy Hogwarts grounds. As though he was on the Quidditch Pitch tracking the Quaffle, he kept his gaze steady on the fluttering red-and-gold of her scarf, marking her progress as she ran. Lithe and speedy as Darcy was, strength was on the Keeper's side this time as he plowed easily through snow drifts that otherwise impeded the fleeing girl's passage. It wasn't long before he'd caught up with her, and with a smug grin, he leapt forward to tackle her—and immediately found himself with a face full of snow. The Seeker's swift reflexes had allowed her to dodge just in time, and now she stood a few feet away, doubled over with laughter.

Moaning his defeat, Oliver rolled onto his back, gazing up into the pale gray December sky until Darcy's features, fixed into a curious smile, drifted into his field of vision.

"All right, Ollie?" she queried.

In one swift move, he wrapped an arm around the backs of her knees and pulled her legs out from under her, knocking her onto her back into the cushion of billowy white snow. Then he rolled carefully atop her, crouching on hands and knees so he could hover over the prone blonde. "Better now," he announced cheerfully to her glaring visage.

"Sometimes there are no words for how much I despise you."

"If that were true," he replied cheekily, using one gloved fingertip to trace along the bridge of her nose, "you would've pushed me off and walked away by now."

Darcy sighed deeply, slender chest rising and falling beneath the new cream-colored, downy-filled coat her parents had sent her for Christmas. She corrected him, "No, if that were true, I would've kneed you in the crotch by now." She smirked a bit as he sucked in a nervous breath through his teeth and automatically drew his legs in to protect that most vital area.

"That would be cruel," he protested, looking suddenly wary of her.

Nodding wisely, she agreed, "Indeed it would. And not just to you, either, seeing as it's bloody impossible to seduce a man who's recently been kneed in the crotch. Especially if you're the one who's done the kneeing. And if I can't seduce you, then where am I to get my source of amusement?" She let her lips draw into a petulant pout.

Oliver couldn't help but grin. "It's always about _your_ needs, isn't it?" he teased.

Laughing, she shot back, "You bet your ass it is. And right now, I need _you_ to get off me so I can get up, go inside, change clothes, and get down to dinner. We're already bound to be a few minutes late as it is."

It was the Keeper's turn to pout, and he did a spectacular job as, rather than pulling away from the blonde, he leaned closer, till his body pressed along the length of hers beneath. "What about _my_ needs?" he queried in a breathy whisper, nudging aside the fabric of her scarf so he could kiss upon the warm flesh of her neck.

She moaned softly into his ministrations, hands wandering up to tangle in his messy spray of chocolate-colored locks. She let him continue on for another long moment, torn by an infuriating mixture of stop-don't stop thoughts. When both their stomachs began a chorus of famished grumbles, she paused the scene by interjecting playfully, "I think right now what you need is some dinner."

Warm breath tickled along her collarbone as he chuckled his agreement. "I think you might be right." He hefted himself to his feet, continuing lightly, "Which is, of course, a violation of the male code for me to admit." Offering a hand, he drew the grinning Seeker easily up to a standing position. "But since there's only you and me here…" he sent a thoughtful gaze over the gentle swell of her chest, receiving a curiously raised eyebrow in return, "…and you're quite obviously _not_ a member of the male sex, I think I'm okay for the moment."

"Are you done being insufferably macho yet?" she asked, tone unamused. "Because I'm rather cold, not to mention starving."

Oliver feigned a look of deep thought. "Mmm, suppose I am—no, wait." Before she could protest, he'd swiftly captured her in his arms and hoisted her up and over one broad shoulder, happily announcing, "Now I'd done. C'mon, love. Let's get dinner." And he gave her backside a light slap before carrying her back to Gryffindor Tower.

After both had changed for dinner, they hurried down to the Great Hall, and as Darcy had predicted, they did in fact arrive several minutes late… but no one much seemed overly concerned. Of the several hundred students and staff that regularly inhabited the castle, less than thirty had stayed for the Christmas holidays.

Darcy glanced curiously around the dining hall. Decorations from the Yule Ball of four days prior still criss-crossed the walls and ceiling, gigantic evergreens at the room's front filling the space with the intoxicating scent of pine needles. But without the crowd of elegantly-dressed young witches and wizards occupying the hall, it seemed oddly empty and bare. The Yule Ball had been held on a Friday night, the following Saturday left open for recovering and packing, and Sunday morning, the Hogwarts Express had left from Hogsmeade Station filled with excitedly chattering students. It was now Tuesday, and the vacancy of the vast castle was only yet sinking in to the Gryffindor Seeker.

As the duo entered the Great Hall, they discovered the majority of the remaining students had all gathered together for the meal, forming a group at the forward-most section of Ravenclaw tables, as it was that House from which the most students had stayed. Only a lone trio of Slytherins sat apart at their own tables, looking particularly brooding.

Dinner proved to be quite the enjoyable affair. With such a small cast to cook for, the kitchen elves had outdone themselves with four immense, delectable courses of food, with special attention paid to dessert. Spirited conversation and good cheer abounded, even prompting Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Sprout to leave their usual spots at the High Table and join the assembly of students. It was several hours later they all departed the Great Hall, having eaten entirely too much, but smiling nonetheless.

Oliver and Darcy made their way back to the common room along with the two other remaining Gryffindor students—a pair of third-year boys, who immediately bid goodnight to their two older House mates and stumbled off to their dorm.

Yawning widely, the blonde paced over to her favorite couch and flopped down in front of the fireplace, feeling quite contented indeed. She broke into a smile as the Keeper joined her, stretching out across the length of the sofa with his head in her lap. Affectionately, she curled her body around him, watching his eyes slide peacefully closed as she ran her fingers through his hair. Contented, he sighed.

"Did you have a good Christmas, love?" the fourth-year queried.

Automatically Darcy's hand moved to the tiny Snitch pendant resting at her neck as she answered, "Without a doubt one of the best I've had in years."

He smiled. "Good. Me too." He snuggled more comfortably into her lap, one arm curled around her knees in a half-hug. "I can't imagine a single thing that could make this day any better for me."

A stretching moment of silence followed this last comment, as the female Gryffindor studied the cherubic beauty of her partner. Her eyes roved over the defined curve of his jaw, the delicate lengths of his eyelashes, re-memorizing every last centimeter of a face she already knew by heart. As though he could feel her gaze caressing over him, Oliver emitted a gentle moan—and suddenly, a small, curious idea occurred to the girl. In a voice narrowly above a whisper, she mused, "I think I know one thing…"

Recognizing the mischievous undercurrent in her voice, the Keeper's eyes flickered open to gaze up at her, the corners of his lips curving into a smirk as he replied, "Yeah? What's tha—"

But the remainder of his words were swallowed when the blonde's mouth swept down to claim his own, with an intensity that sent pleasant shock waves along the length of his spine. He leaned eagerly into the kiss, which was generous and exotic and perfect as all their kisses were, and did not protest a single bit when the lone kiss melted into a continuing cycle, with only the occasional pause for oxygen drawing their mouths apart. Oliver was enthralled at how natural kissing Darcy seemed to him, the exactness with which their lips met… and so it took him a moment before he noticed her right hand had eased down and was sensually massaging his inner thigh.

He jerked back, more than a little surprised. "Darcy…?"

Though her eyes were half-lidded, her gaze held his unwaveringly, and the ministrations of her hand moved ever higher as she said, "I wanted to wait for the right moment for this… I wanted you—_us_—to be ready. So if you want… if you're ready…" Her voice adopted a shivering, breathless quality as she dropped all pretenses and moved directly to massaging his crotch, provoking a desirous mewl from the boy.

"Ready… I _want_ to…" Oliver listened to his own voice as though it emanated from a mile away, dulled by the pounding blood rushing through his ears. He forced himself to hold her smoldering gaze as he related, "But I've never… you know. I don't know how."

Her sigh rang with a touch of regret. "I do." After all, she _had_ been with Kotter nearly five years. Sex had been a matter of trial and error for her. Though Kotter had seemed to harbor a bit more experience than she herself, both soon proved to be fairly naïve in the ways of copulation, and the result was a decidedly boring sex life. She'd taken it upon herself to search for informative sources within the school—which came in surprising abundance, no doubt to the displeasure of the professors—and quickly she'd acquired a vast repertoire of exciting tricks and moves. Aching to try them out, she'd approached Kotter with her new knowledge—and that was the first time she had truly witnessed the depths of his illogical stubbornness. He'd made it quite clear that he was content with their current, albeit predictable, arrangement. And so sex had become nothing more than a repetitive act for the Seeker, her role being a rather passive one as Kotter always insisted on being on top. The only times she ever enjoyed their intercourse were the nights he was too tired to do all the work, and allowed her to be the uppermost partner. But those had been few and far between, and as their relationship had slipped into a downward spiral over the past year, she'd stopped allowing him to have sex with her at all…

Snapping to attention, she realized Oliver was still looking up at her, though his eyes had become slightly glazed courtesy of the generous movements of her right hand. Staring back at him, she felt an exquisite chill work its way down her body. In his gaze, there was unquestionable desire—but there was also love to be found, and open admiration, and it was these two emotions, emotions that had been unfamiliar to her for _so_ long, that sent an immediate surge of warmth to her most intimate of areas.

Needily she drew her lips to the sensitive flesh of his neck, growing ever more desirous for the impressive organ enlarging steadily beneath her fingertips. "Want to…?" she managed to pant out between kisses, barely able to tear herself away from the glorious silk of his flesh.

"Better soon," was his groaned reply. "Too good… Won't last much longer…"

In a tangle of arms, legs, and lips, they somehow managed to make it from the common room to Oliver's dorm, leaving a path of clothing between the doorway and his bed. There was no interlude for the lovers to admire their respective naked forms; there would surely be another time for slow, sensual exploration. This moment was all rush and passion, long-nurtured desire finally coming to a head.

The Keeper soon found himself on his back, the Seeker's slender form hovering above him with anticipation. Somewhere from within his barely-functioning mind, he conjured up the thought, "Protection?"

"Don't worry," she replied breathlessly, and pointing her wand at herself, she muttered a spell he'd never before heard. It was seconds later and with little warning that he found himself suddenly inside her, surrounded by exquisite silken heat that forced a sound from his throat that barely seemed human. Through the jumbled maze that was his mind, he noticed the slight grimace playing briefly over her features.

"You okay?" he inquired immediately, passion dulling in the face of his lover's pain.

"Okay," she responded, expression easing at last. "It's been a while, is all. Plus, I do believe you're a fair deal more, erm… _endowed_… than my last."

Somehow the knowledge that he was bigger than Kotter proved as appealing as if she'd just whispered some gloriously erotic phrase to him. He loudly groaned out his approval as she flexed her hips against his, setting a pace that quickly progressed from swift to frenetic. Their voices were an intertwined chorus of pants and moans, reduced to the most primal of communication, barely aware of anything save the building throb of pleasure between them.

Darcy knew without question when Oliver was coming to his peak, her own body responding in kind as her fevered cries reached a crescendo and indescribable pleasure swept her to the very core. She trembled fiercely through to the very last of the seemingly-endless throws of her passion, finally collapsing down against him in a heap of sweat-slick flesh and tangled sheets. The chocolate-eyed boy appeared barely coherent.

"So good…" she murmured into his neck, grazing her lips exhaustedly along the salty skin. "So very, very good…"

"I think," he replied thickly, as consciousness made a brief return to him, "that I'm in trouble. You've ruined sex for me, Darcy Reed. I'll never be able to sleep with another girl without thinking how terrible she is in comparison to _you_." He smiled as her giggle sent a wave of vibration through his chest.

"Then I guess you'll just have to sleep with me for the rest of your life," she replied coyly.

The brunette smirked. "Won't hear me complaining."

Smiling complacently, she stretched out against him, her body curling with natural ease to fit his muscular frame. His arms moved automatically around her, molding to her as much as she to him. They'd both begun the gradual process of dozing off when Darcy's sleepy voice rose up for a final time.

"Merry Christmas, baby."

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Yay for Oliver/Darcy smut! Sigh. Yes, I know, it's not really _smut_ smut. Not like that hardcore NC-17 smut you read sometimes. More like bodice-ripping romance-novel smut. But it makes me happy. ;) Know what else makes me happy? Reviews. Which you guys all do an _awesome_ job of giving me. 255! *tears up* I love you guys so much.

~ Adele ~


	28. When It Rains

****

Fixing to Fly

Chapter 28

Author's Note: Yay, less than two months this time! See? I'm slowly decreasing the delay time until it'll be down to a chapter a week! Or maybe even a day! … Er, okay, maybe not a _day_… ;) Two things: **Josie**, sweety, I didn't know I published the last chapter on your birthday! Believe me, if I had known, you would've gotten a special dedication note too. In fact, as my (very) belated birthday gift, I hereby dedicate _this_ chapter to you. ;) And to all the rest of my reviewers, you have no idea just how much I adore and appreciate each and everyone of you—yes, **dragonflames**, that means you too. :) You guys have been my constant source of encouragement and inspiration, and I can't thank you enough. Love you guys! *hugs reviewers… in a **_non_**-sex-offender-ish way, of course*

Hum, don't think I've done any shameless plugging for a while, so… Anyone up for a Cedric fic? It's got sexy Hufflepuff Quidditch players! *wink* Not to mention snark, witty arguments, jealous Cho action, and oh-so-much more. It's called _Melt_, if you're interested, and you can find it on my author profile page. Cuz I'm too lazy a prat to put the link here. ;)

Oooh, angst ahead folks! Time to meet StressedOut!Darcy…

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"Why is it…"

A set of Astronomy textbooks whizzed through the air, landing in a crumpled heap at the far side of the Gryffindor seventh-year girls' dorm.

"… every time…"

Several pairs of clean school robes and a random blue sneaker soon joined the books.

"… you really _need_ something…"

At last, a satisfied sigh was heard, and the blonde girl whose torso was previously submerged into the depths of her trunk eased slowly to her feet. In one hand she triumphantly held a small green glass bottle, half-filled with a dark liquid. "… it's always in the last place you look for it," she completed to the empty room, and without further ado, freed the cork from the bottle and downed its contents in one long, grimacing gulp. Darcy made a face at the bitter after-taste.

__

But at least it'll get rid of this damn headache, she thought, and massaged once more at the slow throb pulsing behind her eyes. Not that the pain was anything new; she'd been getting a lot of headaches lately.

Initially they'd been sporadic, starting the first week of the new year, after everyone had returned to the school. Usually they came in the mornings, but sometimes one would sneak in upon her halfway through the day or in the evening. It wasn't till halfway through January that they took on a distinguishable pattern, and by the first of February, they were practically an every-day occurrence. The worst seemed to come to her on Thursday and Friday mornings, during her Magical Medicine class. There had been one day in particular when she'd been assigned to attend to a third-year who'd had the bones of his left arm shattered when he'd gotten too close to the Whomping Willow. He had been halfway through the painful process of mending them when he was put in Darcy's care. A burning ache was already present in her temples when she'd started to his bed, and she'd gotten only three steps toward him when blinding pain swept suddenly through her skull, knocking her to her knees with its ferocity. As her classmates and Madam Pomfrey rushed to her side, she smashed her fists against her forehead, as though attempting to keep her brain from exploding out at the sheer agony. The rest of the day was a blur to her, though she remembered waking up in a hospital bed herself, several hours later. That had been the worst to date, though there were several close runners-up.

She had convinced herself they would stop eventually, but that hope was becoming less and less likely as it was now midway through March and they'd only gotten more consistent. Darcy knew she really should see Madam Pomfrey, especially as she'd just finished the last of her headache potion and somehow she couldn't see Professor Snape donating her the ingredients to brew more out of the goodness of his heart.

__

The first spring league Quidditch game is the thirtieth, she mused, raking her fingers wearily back through her hair. _If these bloody headaches haven't quit by then, I'll go see Pomfrey. And in the meantime, I'll just… deal._

But that was easier said than done, of course, as the ache lurking currently behind her eye sockets gave a demanding throb. Most of her headaches came down upon her swiftly and suddenly; this one, however, had been growing on her all day, distracting her as she attempted to finish the Transfiguration essay she had due first thing the following morning.

Standing in the middle of her dorm, Darcy glanced around at the mess she had created during her hasty search. Luckily, it was indistinguishable from the disasterpiece that was normally Keely's portion of the room and she chose to let it remain as such for the time being. At least until she felt a bit better.

Her eyes wandered over to the unfinished essay still stretched across her desk. She suppressed a groan; yet another thing she desired to abandon until later. But she stumbled her way back across the room anyway, knowing that if she didn't finish it now, odds were she never would. And that, of course, would _not_ sit too well with Professor McGonagall. The last thing she needed at the moment was to be on the bad side of her Head of House.

She flopped ungracefully down into her chair, nearly upsetting her ink bottle as she grabbed for her quill. Her Transfiguration text was still open to the appropriate page, six long, wordy paragraphs bordered by her own scrawled notations. Darcy squinted at the tiny words and attempted to recall where she'd left off.

"Ah, yes. The ancient origins of the _Vericio_ spell. How could such fascinating material have slipped my mind?" she remarked aloud, smirking at her own wry humor. Out of habit, she licked the nib of her quill before pressing it to the paper and had made the first stroke of her next word when, without warning, a nauseating wave of fresh pain swept through her head.

Immediately she dropped her quill, jamming her knuckles against her temples, willing the ache away. At last it subsided, but on its heels rode a sense of inexplicable dread that settled into her stomach like lead.

__

Something's not right.

The thought infused itself through her body, sent adrenaline pumping through her veins. Something had happened... something was very, very wrong… she knew it to the deepest depths of her heart…

Almost unconsciously, she bolted to her feet and had taken a few jerking, uncertain steps toward the door—when she realized she had no idea just _what_ was wrong. But she was given no time for contemplation as the door to her dorm crashed open, revealing a pale, out-of-breath Brian. The terrified expression haunting his features sent a chill straight down her spine.

Urgently, he panted, "Keely… hurt… playing Quidditch… hospital wing…" He broke off, doubling over as he gasped for air. Darcy got the distinct feeling that he'd sprinted all the way to her. He swallowed heavily, and managed to add, "You have to come."

In a split second she was in motion, sweeping past Brian, taking the stairs down three at a time, ignoring the voices that called out to her as she dashed through the common room. She sprinted through corridors and down stairwells, utilizing every single shortcut she knew till at last she skidded to a stop outside the heavy double doors of the infirmary. Standing on the threshold, she froze, her gaze moving to the only occupied bed. There Keely lay, unconscious, with Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey whispering over her in hushed tones.

"Oh god…" the words ghosted off the Seeker's lips as she paced to her friend's bedside. The air felt heavy, as if she were moving underwater, and it seemed a lifetime before she could reach out and take the ice-cold hand of the brunette.

"Take a deep breath, Miss Reed, she's going to be fine." The voice of the Transfiguration professor made Darcy jump, wide blue eyes dancing up to meet McGonagall's steady gaze. "As soon as Mr. Keeler… ah, there he is." Footsteps could be heard moving swiftly up the hall before Brian appeared in the doorway a moment later. The professor motioned him to join.

The male Beater shuffled over, flopping into a nearby chair as fought for breath. "Brought her… quick as I could, Professor."

"I guessed as much, Keeler," McGonagall mused, a slight smile quirking her lips. "I don't suppose you managed to explain to her Miss Merath's situation?" Brian shook his head. "Very well, I shall save you the effort." She turned to Darcy, fixing the girl with a calming stare. "Keeler here and Miss Merath were on the Pitch—getting in a bit of practice for your upcoming spring league, I would assume. Apparently, one of the Bludgers got away from Miss Merath and she took a rather nasty blow to the head."

"Right in the back," the now-recovered Brian interjected, rubbing at the posterior of his own skull for demonstration. "Knocked her off her broom." He stared over at Keely, gaze going distant as he relived those fearful few moments.

Darcy glanced over at Madam Pomfrey, trying to decipher the older woman's frowning visage. "What's her diagnosis?" she queried softly.

A meaningful look was traded between Pomfrey and McGonagall, one that sent a chill of uneasiness through the Gryffindor. "Well, it's a bit difficult…" the nurse began, then glanced once more at McGonagall. "Minerva… if you would, please…"

The professor sighed. "It's like this, Reed. I'm sure you know this is _not_ the first strike your Beater has taken to her head."

Slowly Darcy nodded; if she remembered correctly, this was in fact the fifth time Keely had suffered such a blow.

Mirroring her nod, McGonagall continued, "Yes, well… the way I understand it, because of this fact, Miss Merath has quite a lot of cumulative damage to her brain, and this particular strike has… been the worst. If she were to ever receive _another_ such blow… the consequences would be devastating. And for this reason, it is in her best interests that she _must_ be kept off the Quidditch field."

"Wait, Professor… are you telling us Keely can't play anymore? That she has to quit the team?" Brian gasped. The color drained slowly out of his face at McGonagall's nod.

"There's no other way around it, Keeler." She patted him sympathetically on the shoulder, but her concerned gaze lay on Darcy, who had yet to say a word, to show any sort of reaction.

The Quidditch captain's heart had sunk down into her stomach as she stared down at her teammate—her best female friend. Being able to play as a Beater had always been one of the most important things in Keely's life. There was an aura of confidence, a _glow_, that always seemed to surround the Scot when she was up in the air on her broomstick, Beater's club in hand. To think that Darcy would never see that again…

"I can't tell her," she murmured, shooting a glance between Pomfrey and McGonagall.

"I'll tell her," said the nurse, giving the Gryffindor girl's shoulder a soft squeeze. "I'll explain it to her, as soon as she's awake." She sighed, sent a last glance at her patient. "Which won't be for a bit yet, I'm afraid. I've still a bit of work to do in my office until then, so if you'll excuse me." She gave a departing nod the seventh-years and McGonagall before bustling off to disappear through a doorway at the room's far end.

The professor glanced at her students. "I'll see you both in class tomorrow," was all she said, before she, too, swept out of the infirmary.

Numbly, Brian met Darcy's gaze. "I should go… let Loren and Toby know about… I should go. Are you staying here with her?" She nodded. "I'll be back to see you then, later. Maybe she'll be awake by then too." He lifted himself wearily to his feet, stopping beside Darcy and resting his head against her own for a moment. "I'm so sorry, babe. I didn't… I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Brian," she answered, but something about the way he stiffened at her words told her that wasn't the reason he was apologizing. But Brian said no more, giving Keely's forehead a kiss and Darcy's back a departing rub before hastening out of the room.

The blonde sighed. Her head still ached.

***

Dusk had fallen upon the castle by the time Brian returned to the infirmary. The golden flicker of torchlight illuminated the area around Keely's bed, and the slender Seeker asleep in the chair Brian himself had occupied just earlier that day. She woke instantly at the sound of his footsteps, conjuring a weary smile as he took a seat beside her on the edge of the mattress.

He glanced down at the still-slumbering Scot. "She's not awake yet?"

"She was a while ago," Darcy answered, stretching the cramped muscles of her legs. "But then Madam Pomfrey explained about her… _condition_… and its effects." She frowned slightly. "Needless to say, Keely didn't take it well. Pulled her usual Scottish barbarian routine and started bellowing that she would never be kept away from Quidditch. Pomfrey decided to give her a bit of a sleeping draught when she tried to escape the infirmary."

Brian laughed. "That sounds like Keely all right."

"Yeah…" Her smile faded a bit. "I'm going to have a hell of a time keeping her off the Pitch. Especially since she's not the only one who wants her to still be able to play." Sighing with frustration, the Seeker slammed her fist against the arm of her chair. "Goddammit, Brian, why'd this have to happen now? Seventh year. _Best_ team we've had. First Kotter—and for all the asshole he was, he was still a damn good Chaser. Now Keely? Just when I'd started to believe we might _actually_ have a shot at the Quidditch Cup." She gave a sad chuckle, shooting a glance over at her friend. "You know what I mean?"

But Brian refused to meet her gaze, his mouth set in a thin line as he stared at the wall. "You know, you're not making this any easier for me, DC," he murmured.

Her expression softened. "I'm sorry, sweety, I'm not even thinking. You must feel as awful as I do, seeing as she's practically your _partner_ and—"

"That's not what I meant."

At the tone of his voice, her words died on her lips, a horrible feeling seeping through her like ice water. She placed a hand uncertainly upon his arm. "What is it, Brian?"

A weak chuckle rose from the Beater, and slowly his eyes leveled with hers, guilt and remorse running thick through their emerald depths. "You know what the best thing about playing Quidditch has always been for me? It's you. The love you have for the game, and for us. The way you put your heart into it. If you hadn't already been on the team, I don't think I ever would've played. You make me _want_ to win…" He took hold of her hand and laced his fingers through hers before whispering, "I have to quit, Darcy. I can't play anymore."

The words hit her like a shock wave, rocking her slowly backward in her seat. For a long moment, her mouth refused to form words. "What—do you mean, you… _can't_…"

He sighed painfully. "Professor Dumbledore called me into his office last Friday. He had… some _concerns_ about my grades… and whether or not I'd be able to pass my N.E.W.T.s. We talked, and he'd, ah… already spoken to my parents, and we came to the agreement that… unless I quit Quidditch and devote all my extra time to studies, I'm not going to be able to pass this year," he finished in a tortured voice. "Sorry, Darcy."

She simply blinked back. She felt sick to her stomach, as though someone had delivered a fierce punch to her gut. _Everything was so perfect_… the thought drifted like a shadow through her mind as she stared at her best friend.

"Darcy… please… say something," he pleaded.

The hand holding her own squeezed, and Brian was forced to wait through another tense moment of silence until at last she said, "If you're looking for somebody to tutor you in Potions, count me out."

Relieved laughter rolled through the Beater as he dropped to his knees in front of the seated girl, hugging her tightly around the waist, his head pressed to her chest so he could hear her heart beating. "God, DC, for a minute there, I thought you were going to curse my right to breathe or something," he chuckled, tugging playfully at her red-and-gold-striped school tie.

She cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "I thought about it," she teased, "but then I remembered I love you to much to hate you." She smiled. "Besides, when it comes down to it, I'd much rather have you seated beside me in a chair on graduation day than seated beside me on a broomstick during the Quidditch Final."

"I'd hoped that's what you'd say." Flashing her a grin, he got to his feet, dusting off the knees of his gray uniform slacks. "And now that I know I won't have to spend the rest of my nights fretting over the fact that you hate me, I'd best be off. I'm supposed to start doing that 'studying' thing with Toby and Loren tonight."

"Fun, fun," Darcy quipped with a smirk.

"Yep. Just like gouging your own eyes out with a spoon," he replied, and gave her a last hug before heading out. He paused at the doorway, turning back to her. "Hey, DC?"

She glanced up at him. "Hmm?"

His expression was a mixture of affection and sobriety as he told her, "You're a great captain. You're still going to win the Quidditch Cup. And I'll be the first one on the field to congratulate you when you do." He smiled. "Right?"

"Right," she agreed, and watched him disappear into the darkened hallway. As Brian's footsteps faded, so did her smile. She _wasn't_ mad at him… but she wasn't particularly happy, either. A heaviness had settled into her chest, a sad acceptance of forces she had no control over.

__

And just when I thought things couldn't **get** worse.

Wearily, she sent a glance over at Keely. In her usual fashion, the Scot was snoring loudly, a lock of curly brown hair flipping in and out of her mouth with each breath. Darcy had gotten a quick glance at the sleeping draught Madam Pomfrey had practically poured down Keely's throat; it was decidedly one of the nurse's more _potent_ blends. Darcy knew it would still be quite a while before Keely would wake again.

She stretched to her feet, groaning loudly at all the unexpected aches and pains the day had brought her. She groaned even louder when she realized her half-finished Transfiguration essay was still waiting for her upstairs.

__

Bloody hell, what next? she thought cynically, but didn't dare say it aloud. She'd already had enough trouble for one day, she didn't dare jinx herself further.

She sent a last glance down at her slumbering friend and patted the other girl lightly on the shoulder. "I'll take extra notes for you tomorrow in Charms class, huh? Just get better soon," she instructed, then let her weary feet carry her out of the infirmary and back toward Gryffindor Tower.

It was at an open corridor somewhere along the fifth floor that she suddenly paused, a subtle sound playing at her ears, something beyond her own echoing footsteps. Intrigued, she cocked her head, listened closely, and soon pinpointed the noise to a slight tapping on a nearby window. A sigh flowed through her when she recognized the distorted image of an owl through the stained glass, and quickly she moved to allow the bird entry. She started a bit in surprise when her own barn owl, Manhattan, swooped easily through the window and landed on her shoulder.

"Didn't see _you_ at breakfast this morning," she told the bird reproachfully, stroking a hand over the smooth feathers of his wings. The owl hooted softly at her and, as if to explain his absence, thrust at her the scroll of parchment tied neatly to one leg. "Ahh, I see. Unexpected errand." She freed her letter and waited for Manhattan to take off… when she realized the owl was staring at her expectantly. She frowned. "What? I don't have any treats on me right now."

Indignant, the barn owl screeched at her.

"Okay, okay! Find me tomorrow at breakfast, I'll give you some bacon or something. Okay?" she offered, running a fingertip placatingly along his head. Appeased, he nipped her ear affectionately and took off once more into the night.

Darcy closed the window after him, then stared down at her letter. For a moment she considered tucking it away in her robes, waiting till she was back in the comfortable warmth of the common room to read it. But curiosity soon got the best of her and, moving into the glow of a nearby torch for sufficient light, she broke the wax seal and let her gaze drift down over the familiar script that spanned the page's length.

**__**

Darcy,

I have great news for you! Your father got pulled aside today by Amelia Bones—she's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, in case you forgot—and she told him you've been accepted into next year's Auror Training Program! Well, pending your N.E.W.T.s, obviously, but your father and I were just so excited, we couldn't wait to tell you! Your father practically had a fit when he found out. He says he can't wait to have to have his girl working side by side with him. We're so proud of you, sweety! Would it be alright if we had a bit of party for you over Spring Break next week? Just for friends and family of course. Send a note back with Manhattan as soon as you get a chance, okay? We love you, Darcy, and we're so proud of you.

Love,

Mom

For a long moment, Darcy stared in mild horror at the sheet of parchment, appalled by news that would have made anyone else dance in delight. But anyone else might actually have _wanted_ to be an Auror; Darcy did _not_. The idea of wasting away the rest of her life chasing around bad guys for the Ministry of Magic made her feel sick to her stomach. She knew it was what her parents had always wanted for her… to follow in her father's footsteps… She'd never told them differently, not wanting to disappoint them, and secretly believing she'd never make it into the Auror Training Program to begin with. But somehow she _had_…

Whatever traces of good humor she might have still possessed for that day vanished as she tossed the letter onto the torch, watching it flame and curl into ash. She walked the rest of the way back to the tower in a daze, barely noticing the slow tears brimming just behind her eyelashes.

Only four faces greeted her when she stepped into the common room, perhaps the only four faces she would have wanted to see at that moment. Seated in front of the fire, Oliver and Percy Weasley were in the midst of a game of wizard's chess, flanked by the avid gazes of Percy's younger brothers, Fred and George. The twins were delighting in sabotaging their sibling's efforts by rearranging his pieces whenever he wasn't looking, while Oliver tried his best to repress a smirk of amusement.

Suddenly quite exhausted, Darcy shuffled over to them, dropping onto a nearby loveseat.

"There you are, love, I've been looking for you all…" Oliver trailed off as he caught sight of her dejected expression and worry instantly filled his own features. "Darcy? What's wrong?"

The Keeper's words brought instant curious glances from the Weasley twins and a concerned frown from Percy, who proceeded to study the blonde in a very contemplative manner. "It's not been a good day for you, has it?" he said suddenly.

A choked laugh escaped Darcy's throat. "And you, Percy Weasley, win the Understatement-of-the-Year Award," she quipped, though the humor fell flat next to the twin teardrops slowly making their way down her cheeks.

Oliver moved up onto the couch next to her, drawing her into his protective embrace as Percy and the twins scooted closer as well. "Tell me," was all the fourth-year had to say, and suddenly every terrible detail of the long day was spilling from the Seeker's lips, anger and sadness and fear pouring out until at last, she collapsed back against Oliver, utterly spent.

A long moment of heavy silence stretched after her final words.

"So… does that mean we get to be the main Beaters for the rest of the year?" Fred finally spoke up, and immediately received a smack from his twin.

"Git, now's _not_ the time to bother her with that!" George smiled apologetically up at Darcy. "Sorry, love, apparently I was born with the conscience side of our brain. What my twin meant to say was, you need to get away from things for a bit. Take some time just for yourself. You should come stay with us at the Burrow over spring break."

"Now _that_, my dear brother, is indeed a spiffing idea," Fred interjected approvingly.

"Actually, that really _isn't_ a bad idea," said Percy suddenly, surprising his brothers with the fact that he'd actually _agreed_ with them. "Charlie's going to be home, and I know he'd love to see you. And mum, as well—I'm sure she'll make quite the fuss over you."

"Oliver, you should come, too," Fred added. "It'd make for great backyard Quidditch."

Tiredly the blonde blinked at them all, letting the offer sink into her head, even as Oliver answered that he'd love to come and then gazed expectantly down at her. Her parents wanted her to come home over break and have a party, to celebrate the 'good news' of her Auror Training acceptance. They wanted to brag to all the family about their daughter, the future Auror. They wanted to ask her about Kotter and hear her say how things were great between her and her future husband. They wanted her to play the role she'd been playing her entire life. And because of this, she would be miserable the entire week.

At the Burrow, she would be pampered, fed, chatted up, and loved upon, no strings attached.

Darcy hesitated exactly two seconds before gratefully accepting Percy and the twins' offer.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Whew. Longish chapter. 4300-some words the last time I checked. Yay for chapters with actual plot instead of just fluffy smut! Although I _do_ adore my fluffy smut… ;)

Can I ask a favor of you lovely, lovely people? You see, I wanted to get myself a Live Journal for my 18th birthday (it was July 3rd) as kind of a gift to myself. But I didn't realize you had to pay unless you knew someone. And as I only just turned 18, I don't yet _have_ a credit card to pay. And I didn't know anyone. Sooo… does anybody have an LJ code they'd like to donate? *puppy eyes* Pweese? You'll have my eternal gratitude and I promise you an LJ filled with Harry Potter cookies and Arby's rants. ;) Feel free to go ahead and e-mail me if you want to hook me up. And even if you don't, feel free to e-mail me anyway. I like e-mail. :)

Hum. Think that's about enough out of me for one day. Lurve you all! ~ Adele


	29. Good Advice

**Fixing to Fly**

****

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**Author's Note:** Err. Yeah. Definitely more than a few weeks. Sorry, guys, but RL pretty much sucked me away from writing for a while there. But, on the bright side, I'm determined to finish this fic, come hell or high water. I won't make promises about _when_ I'll finish, or make any deadlines for new chapters, but you have my word that it will get completed. To those of you who have reviewed, e-mailed, or contacted me in other ways, you have my sincerest thanks for reminding me to finish what I start. :) And, as always, all my love and thanks goes out to my reviewers. If any of you are even still reading this, I can't even begin to thank you.

* * *

With her nervous gaze locked steadily on the laces of her sneakers, Darcy said in a tiny voice, "I don't want to be an Auror." She paused, and when no horrified gasps or angry shrieks answered her statement, she went on, "I've been studying to be a Healer, and I _really_ enjoy it. And I'm not half bad at it either." She gave a weak laugh. Silence was still her reply, and so she jumped her final hurdle. "And I'm not with Kotter anymore. We split up a few months ago, and I think I might be in love with my new Keeper, Oliver Wood." 

She blew out a deep breath, suddenly and insanely relieved, even though her parents had yet to say a single word in response. In her mind, she had just waded through the hardest part—forcing all those pent-up words past her lips and out in the open at last.

Now she listened, waiting for the result of her verbal catharsis. Her gaze remained on her shoes, until she knew whether to stare shamefully up at the disappointed faces of her parents as they berated her for dishonesty, or to blink in loving relief as they offered their support and understanding, ready to back their daughter so long as she was happy. These were the two most likely scenarios she had imagined. She had tried to convince herself there was only one outcome—a positive one—but she could not entirely eliminate that shadow of doubt that still lurked in the very bottom of her stomach.

And for once, that shadow proved horribly, devastatingly true.

She was not at all prepared for the iced detachment in her father's voice as he finally said, "I've raised a liar."

Though no one had touched her, Darcy rocked back in her seat as if she'd been slapped across the face. Her mouth fell open in shock, her eyes instantly rising to meet those of her parents. Thomas Reed's face was a blank slate, giving away no emotion, not even the pale blue eyes that were identical to his daughter's. Beside him, Nyssa Reed was the picture of scandalized disgust and did not try to reprimand her husband for his last statement.

"How could you do this to us?" she demanded, beginning to pace the length of the room. One hand was held flat against her chest, as though something deep inside was hurting her. "After all we've done… all the effort we've gone to for you… you… you ungrateful…!" She broke off, apparently too frustrated to speak.

Darcy suddenly couldn't breathe. Her mind absolutely refused to comprehend the words being told to her, and her stomach wanted very much to reject what little lunch she'd managed to get down earlier in the day.

Her mother was speaking again. Her sentences were coming fast and hard and hitting Darcy like tiny slivers of glass that caught under her skin, tearing her apart from the inside. "You've ruined everything. You've ruined everything you had, you stupid girl, how could you? Do you know how humiliating it's going to be for your father at work after this? And your sister will be starting at Hogwarts next year, imagine the gossip she's going to have to endure! Did you even think about anyone but yourself? I can't _believe_ how selfish you're being."

A short little gasp escaped the blonde girl. "Mom… please, I never—"

"And Kotter, that poor boy. I bet you never even gave a thought to him as you were off gallivanting like some… some _cheap whore_ with that Oliver Wood. Well, I hope he was worth throwing away your entire future for. Is Oliver Wood going to support you? Is he going to give you a nice home and a good life like Kotter could've?" She'd stopped her pacing and now moved to loom over her daughter, a cruel smile curling her lips. "But I guess you never stopped to think about that."

Darcy had begun to shake; terrible, hard convulsions that ached only slightly less than her mother's harsh words. She wanted to cry, scream out, defend herself, _something_. But she could barely force oxygen in and out of her lungs, and the look of utter contempt in her mother's eyes quelled any words she might've tried to say.

The older woman was shaking her head, bearing down on Darcy. Her voice had become absolutely venomous as she spat, "Don't you dare even think _we'll_ be paying for this little whim of yours. But then again, since you've made all these plans for yourself without bothering to say anything to us, I guess you've got everything all figured out. Because you're just _so_ smart, aren't you? _Aren't you_?"

"Nyssa. That's enough." The cool voice of her father cut through the room, and slowly Darcy turned her head to look up at him. For all her mother's rage and disgust, it was the single emotion she finally found in her father's eyes that hurt her the most. Disappointment.

At last Darcy managed to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. "Daddy… _please_," she pleaded.

Thomas Reed sent a short glance at his daughter, then quickly looked away, as if seeing her caused him physical pain. He instead fixed a steady gaze on his wife. "Let her be. She's made her choices… she doesn't need us anymore." He sent one final look at Darcy, then closed his eyes. "And so we won't need her."

"_Daddy, no!_"

Darcy sat up in bed, her flesh clammy and sweat-slick, those last terrible words from her father echoing hollowly through her mind. The room around her was dark and quiet save the soft snores from the other bed.

With a shuddering sigh, she closed her eyes and fell back against her pillows. "A dream, Darcy. It was just a dream," she told herself, the sound of her own whispered voice somehow comforting. She opened her eyes again and stared up at the low ceiling, trying to forget the latest subconscious manifestation of her insecurities. This was the third such dream she'd now had over the course of the week.

After a moment, she propped herself up onto her elbows and gazed over once more at the other bed. A small freckled arm and a wisp of long red hair poking out were the only indications that a person resided under the enormous lump of blankets. A surprisingly easy grin wrapped around Darcy's lips.

Even asleep, little Ginny Weasley never failed to elicit a smile from the blonde Seeker. From their first meeting nearly six days prior, Ginny had made an instant attachment to Darcy and refused to be separated from her, even against the worst torments and threats of her brothers. Darcy, who had a younger sister only a year or so older than Ginny, did not mind at all the constant accompaniment and was most patient about answering all the younger girl's questions about Hogwarts and Quidditch.

Darcy's smile deepened as she thought about the past week. If she had learned one thing, it was that there was never a dull moment at the Burrow.

Mornings were spent in nightgowns and pajamas, gathered around the kitchen table with Oliver and the rest of the Weasley clan as matriarch Molly Weasley pampered them all with endless delectable breakfast foods. Once the sun was high enough in the clear blue sky, they relocated out to a secluded paddock just south of the house, where endless games of makeshift Quidditch would last as long as the light did. When it was too dark to see, they would finally heed the calls of Mrs. Weasley to come inside, all crowding into the living room, bright-eyed and smelling of outdoors. Plates of sandwiches and other snacks made their way around the room as the Exploding Snap deck and Wizard Chess board were brought out. And then they would play late into the night, until they were all too tired to keep their eyes open any longer.

It had been one of the best weeks of Darcy's life, and she could think of no negative aspects save one. Despite Percy's assurances, Charlie Weasley had yet to make it home. He had sent an owl the day before she'd arrived, mentioning a problem in Romania with one of the dragon herds that would likely delay him a few days. But as the week drew on, no sign or further news of him was forthcoming, and it seemed Charlie would have to miss this particular visit.

Darcy was, of course, disappointed at not being able to see one of her oldest and dearest friends. But she also understood the requirements of his job, and the delightful atmosphere of the Weasley household swiftly pulled her out of any foul mood she might've slipped into.

And yet, as she lay in her borrowed bed in Ginny's room, listening to the gentle breathing of her roommate, a sudden flash of her father's disappointed face slipped through her mind's eye. Darcy frowned. It seemed even all the warmth and goodness that surrounded the Burrow could not completely allay her fears.

Before the images of her dream could return to her in full force, she rolled hastily from her bed, throwing her robe around her shoulders as she crept out of the room. She was careful to skip the stairs that she'd learned had a tendency to creak as she made her way down and into the kitchen.

She rested her palms flat against the counter top, stretching on her tiptoes to peer out the window. The very first touches of indigo and violet had only begun to tint the horizon, indicating to Darcy just how very early it still was. A small sigh escaped her as she considered her options. She was far too awake now to go back to bed… and she didn't care to risk another dream, at any rate. She thought about waking Oliver, talking to him about the troubles of her mind. But her dearest Keeper had been utterly exhausted the previous evening, barely able to remain upright when they all finally trooped off to bed. They'd all been rather tired, actually, having spent the day playing the longest and hardest Quidditch match they'd played all week.

Oliver wouldn't protest if she woke him, she knew. But she just didn't have the heart.

She sighed again and leaned her weight against the counter, staring idly out the kitchen window. And it was as she stood, lost in her own thoughts, that a glint of gold and flutter of wings suddenly appeared on the periphery of her vision. It was pure instinct and reflex that made her swiftly stretch out her arm, curling trained fingers around the small flying object. In the blink of an eye, Darcy had captured the golden Snitch.

Entirely unaware of the satisfied smile that had found her lips, she stared down at the mysteriously random Snitch, rubbing a thumb over its smooth metal surface. "Now where did _you_ come from?" she mused curiously, and had turned around to inspect the contours of the room when a voice from behind made her jump.

"I see you haven't lost your touch, Reed."

He stood in the doorframe, his stocky, muscular form outlined against the backdrop of darkness outside. A handsome grin was spreading slowly across his freckled face.

"Charlie!" Darcy squealed, and immediately launched herself across the room and into the arms of the second oldest Weasley son. "I didn't think you were going to make it home before I had to leave."

Releasing her from his embrace, Charlie took a step back and examined the young woman with mild surprise. "Like I would ever pass up an opportunity to see you, Darcy," he admonished, then slowly shook his head. "But Merlin, look at you! What happened to the short, skinny little second year who looked too small to stay on her broom?"

She bit down on her lip, trying hard not to blush. "Guess I grew up a little since then, huh?"

"I guess," he laughed. Giving her another long look, he added playfully, "Well, maybe not _up_. You're still short." He gave her shoulder a nudge, pushing the slender Seeker back a step.

"Hey, I resent that," Darcy protested and batted at his hand, but she failed to stifle the grin spanning her visage. "So, what, you thought you'd just sneak home in the wee hours of the morning and surprise us all when we came down for breakfast?"

"Oh no. I was definitely going to come upstairs and drag _you_ out of bed." He flashed her a cocky grin, eliciting a laugh from the girl. "But speaking of sneaking around in the wee hours, just what are _you_ doing up, Miss Reed? Unless you've suddenly become a Seer and foresaw my return during a meditation session." He pretended to eye her suspiciously.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Not quite. No, I, ah… couldn't sleep," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. But she knew perfectly well that he could see past the act. He'd known her far too long to be fooled.

And indeed, Charlie didn't even bother to play coy. "What's on your mind, love?"

Blowing out a weary sigh, she said, "It's a long story. _Long_, long story. Don't ask me that question unless you've got a few hours."

He lifted his hands to indicate the empty room and the darkness still enveloping the world outside the kitchen window. "Even if it wasn't o'dark-thirty in the morning, I've always got time for you, Darcy. Here." He pulled out a chair and guided her into it. "Start talking. I'll make some tea."

She gazed at him uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Talk." He brandished a tea kettle at her threateningly. "Now."

Smiling slightly, she gave in. "Okay. Well… I guess it really all started third year…" she paused to giggle at herself. "God, this sounds like some sort of therapy session. I feel like I should be lying on a couch."

Charlie grinned. "Just call me Doctor Weasley."

After fixing him with an appropriately unimpressed gaze, she went on, "But anyway. It was third year when I started dating Kotter, and things just kind of went downhill from there…"

* * *

"Mmm," was all Charlie said at first. 

Darcy had been speaking for nearly an hour, completely oblivious to the sun peeking steadily over the horizon or the three cups of tea she'd drank her way through. It felt immeasurably good to unburden herself, and Charlie had been the perfect example of a good listener, nodding at the right spots and making the appropriate sympathetic noises.

But now, as she fell silent, so did he. The redheaded dragon herder was giving the kitchen table a deeply penetrating stare, as though looking for answers in its weathered surface.

At last, he sighed and met her gaze. "You're unhappy," he said pointedly.

"Err…" For a moment, she was uncertain how to respond. "I… guess that _would_ be an accurate summary of everything I've said so far," she conceded, hoping desperately that this would provoke him to elaborate.

"Okay. So then the answer to all your problems is, get happy." And then he grinned, seemingly pleased with his diagnosis.

Darcy stared blankly back at him. "Get happy," she repeated skeptically.

"Absolutely." He was still grinning.

That was when she lost her patience. "Oh, _ohh_, of course! Get happy. Now why didn't I think of that before? Silly me, miserable all these years, and it never once occurred to me to try and get happy! Well, don't I feel stupid! You've solved all my problems now!" Her words were practically drowned in sarcasm.

Charlie appeared wholly unaffected and continued to smile at her. "Haven't I?"

She gave a sharp sigh. "Look. Don't you think if I _knew_ how to 'get happy,' as you so succinctly put it, I would've done it by now?"

"But you _do_ know how," he insisted, and now his cheerful grin was morphing into a more meaningful smile. Gently he took her chin in one large calloused hand. "You've already told me what you need to do, Darcy. In fact, you've already done half of it. I'm not sure why you think you need to hear it from someone else before you can finish the job."

Frowning, she began, "I don't understand…"

"Well, look, you got rid of Kotter, didn't you?" he queried, and at her slight nod, he went on, "And that made you happy, didn't it?"

"Yes."

"So you're halfway there. The only thing you've left to do is talk to your parents, and I really don't think that'll be as hard as you're trying to make it." He pointedly ignored her skeptical glance. "So just go and do it. And then you'll be happy."

Slowly she was shaking her head. "But everything with Kotter… all that's happened over the past years… How am I supposed to explain—"

"You don't _have_ to explain," he quickly interjected. "Well, you can if you want to, of course. The same way you just explained everything to me. But all that stuff's in the past. And the great thing about the past is…" he paused, as if building for dramatic effect, then wisely concluded, "it's the past. It's over. It happened, you've learned from it, and it's made you the person you are today. Now stop dwelling on it and start doing what you need to do to be happy _right now_."

For a very long moment, Darcy gazed thoughtfully up at Charlie. She hadn't realized at first, but the whole time he'd been trying to teach her, to mentor her as he'd always done. And as always, he was perfectly and absolutely right.

At long last, she smiled. "Thank you, Charlie," she said softly, and stretched forward to wrap her arms around her oldest and dearest friend.

He laughed. "Don't thank me, love. I was just repeating what you'd already told me."

"But thanks anyway," she insisted. She gave his muscled torso a tight squeeze, feeling suddenly much better than she had in months. Then a slight smirk came to her as she mused aloud, "Though you still haven't even mentioned the most important problem."

"Oh?" he queried with genuine interest. "What's that?"

She relaxed back into her chair and gazed at him keenly. "How am I supposed to win the Quidditch Cup this year now that I've lost three of my best players?"

Grinning brilliantly at her, he replied, "Simple. Catch the Snitch in the first five minutes."

Before Darcy could formulate a response, a loud gasp and a squealed cry of, "_Charlie!_" rang through the kitchen, emanating from the tiny red-haired, pajama-clad girl who promptly launched herself at her older brother. Charlie barely had time to prepare himself before Ginny was on him, her arms squeezed almost chokingly tight around his neck.

"Hullo, Ginny," he managed to gasp out as he embraced his sister.

"I _thought_ I heard voices down here." Mrs. Weasley bustled cheerfully into the kitchen, gifting both her son and the blonde Seeker with hugs before she proceeded right to starting breakfast. "What time did you get in, dear?"

"Oh, early this morning," Charlie answered, trading a knowing smile with Darcy.

"That's lovely," Mrs. Weasley answered absently as she set the eggs to cooking by themselves on the stove.

"Are we having a party down here?" demanded George as he entered the kitchen with his twin in tow.

"And who forgot to invite us?" Fred added playfully. They both broke into identical grins when they spotted their newly-arrived sibling. "Would you look what the Kneazle dragged in? Where've you been hiding, brother?"

Leaning in close to the older Weasley, George said in a conspiratorial voice, "We've got some… _interesting_ things to show you later."

"Of our own creation, of course," Fred put in.

"It better not be those trick wands I saw you two working on the other night," Mrs. Weasley warned, fixing the twins with a stern gaze. She shook her spatula at them as she added, "And you both better have all your school assignments done before we leave for King's Cross tomorrow. I don't want to hear that you were copying from your friends on the train."

The twins exchanged a look. "Wonder who would tell her we were doing something like that?" Fred intoned darkly.

As if he had somehow sensed his presence in the discussion, Percy strolled imperiously into the kitchen, pajamas wrinkle-free and hair already perfectly combed, despite the early hour. "How is a gentleman supposed to get his beauty rest with you all making such a ruckus down here?" he groused, serving them all a tragically offended look.

George snorted. "Beauty sleep? You better go back to bed for a few years then, Perce."

"More like a few decades," Fred mused in a none-too-quiet whisper.

With an indignant sniff, Percy announced, "I refuse to rise to your childish baiting."

But the twins were no longer paying attention to their brother, instead greeting Oliver, who had at last stumbled into the kitchen. He was the antithesis to Percy in his rumpled night clothes, hair sticking out at all odd angles. The Keeper directed a sleepy "G'morning" at Fred and George before flopping into the seat next to Darcy and resting his head against her shoulder.

"Hello, beautiful," he murmured into the fabric of her robe.

Smiling genuinely, she ruffled her fingers through his messy hair and kissed the top of his head. "Hello, love," she replied lightly, and when a slight nudge to her ribcage drew her attention, she turned to find Charlie grinning at her.

"Happy yet?" he asked softly.

Darcy sighed. "Getting there."

* * *

The morning sky was only slightly lighter when she rolled out of bed the next day, moving silently around Ginny's room as she got dressed and gathered her belongings. She hadn't intended to leave quite so early, but after several long hours of lying sleeplessly on her back, her mind unable to focus on anything but what she was about to do that day, she could finally wait no longer. 

It was in the stairwell between the second and third floors that she paused to scribble out a quick note, her lit wand clutched between her teeth as she wrote. Then she continued her stealthy trek down and into the kitchen.

She left the note on the center of the table, weighted down beneath a salt shaker against the slight breeze flowing in the open back door. Then she began to search for the Weasleys' supply of Floo powder. She'd considered leaving a few Sickles in repayment for what she would be taking, but had just as quickly realized that the money-conscious Weasleys would not accept it, and she didn't want to offend her wonderful hosts. Again she felt a pang of regret at leaving so silently, unable to say her thanks in person. She could only hope her note would be enough.

After a solid five minutes of looking, she still had yet to locate the Floo powder. As the sky outside continued to grow brighter, Darcy began to get frustrated. "Now where…" she uttered.

"In that old flower pot on the mantle, I think."

Only by a most supreme effort did she manage to stifle her scream, spinning sharply around to locate her surprise visitor. She blew out a heavy breath of relief when she discovered Oliver smiling genially back at her.

"You _are_ looking for Floo powder, right?" he added.

"Good lord, Oliver, you scared the life out of me! What're you doing up so early?" demanded the Seeker, seemingly oblivious to his previous statement.

He shrugged, taking hold of her hands as he closed the distance between them. "Didn't think I'd let you leave without saying good-bye, did you? Besides, I wanted to wish you luck."

Fixing him with an appropriately confused look, she queried, "Why would I need luck?"

The Keeper just laughed. "You think you're so sneaky, Miss Reed, but you're an absolutely terrible actress. I knew you were thinking about leaving for home yesterday by the way you kept looking between the clock and the fireplace. Like you were deciding the best time to slip away. It didn't take me long to figure out you'd try to leave sometime this morning."

Darcy tried—and failed—to hide her smile. "You're getting too clever for you own good."

"I learned it from you," he replied smartly. But then his cocky smirk melted into a soft smile and he gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "I'm holding you up. You need to get going before anyone else wakes up, otherwise you'll never get out of here."

Swallowing down the lump that suddenly wanted to form in her throat, she lovingly studied her significant other. He understood everything perfectly, and she hadn't even said a word. "Oh Ollie," she murmured and threw her arms around his neck, nuzzling into his embrace as she felt his arms close around her waist. She stayed that way for a long moment, feeling utterly loved and entirely unafraid of anything in the world.

Even of the conversation she was about to have with her parents.

"I'll see you at Platform 9¾," she said, at last untangling herself from the fourth year.

"Of course." He gave her a last supportive smile as he released her hands, watching as she stretched up to get a pinch of Floo powder from the flower pot.

She stepped up to the fireplace, where Mrs. Weasley had, for some reason, left a low fire crackling overnight. It suddenly occurred to the girl that perhaps Oliver wasn't the _only_ one who'd figured out her intentions. She turned momentarily back to him. "That letter on the table is for Mrs. Weasley, but please tell her that I can't thank her enough for this week," she instructed.

He nodded. "Will do."

"Thank you," she murmured, stepping toward the fire.

"Hey."

Sending a glance over her shoulder, she queried, "Yes?"

Oliver was studying her with those endearing brown eyes of his. "No matter what happens… I love you, okay?" And he couldn't stop himself from sweeping forward and embracing her one last time, lifting her chin up to steal a tender kiss.

Slowly and certainly, Darcy kissed him back. "I love you too," she whispered against his mouth, hating the knowledge that she had to pull away. But at last she managed, and she felt a small shiver of pain ripple through her head as she tossed her Floo powder into the fire. She frowned, hoping against hope that it wasn't the start of another headache. She'd managed to make it through the entire week without suffering a single one, and it was the last thing she needed at that particular moment.

But her mind cleared as she stepped into flames, which had now taken on a brilliant emerald hue and surpassed her in height. She turned and found Oliver looking as if he desperately wanted to jump in after her. But instead he raised a hand and waved awkwardly.

She smiled and returned the gesture. Then, in a clear voice, she said, "Number fourteen Falmoore Lane, Tunbridge Wells, East Sussex."

Thirty whirling, soot-filled seconds later found her tumbling out into a large cozy living room, landing knees and palms down on a lovely soft rug placed there for just that purpose. Darcy stood and slowly steadied herself, caressing her gaze over the familiar surroundings. "I'm home," she whispered.

The pale flicker of lamplight from down the nearby hallway told her that her parents were awake, sitting up for breakfast. Steeling her nerve with thoughts of Oliver and their parting kiss, she made her way to the kitchen, coming to a stop in the doorframe. The scene before her was a familiar one—her mother, sipping idly at a mug of tea as she tended to the breakfast simmering on the stove; her father at the table, hidden behind his just-delivered issue of the _Daily Prophet_. Nyssa Reed had one hand resting on her husband Thomas's shoulder, a gesture of silent affection that was somehow touching in its simplicity.

Gazing upon this, something twitched in the pit of her stomach, and Darcy realized quite abruptly just how much she'd missed her family, and how far she'd been pushing them away as she cloaked herself deeper in omitted details and half-truths. At that moment, the thought of finally telling them the truth was no long frightening. She was ready.

Sidling a few more steps into the kitchen, she queried softly, "Mom? Daddy?"

Her mother startled, then promptly charged across the room, trapping Darcy in a tight embrace before she could react. Over the top of the newspaper, a slow smile was forming on her father's face.

"Oh honey! I'm so glad you're home! We've missed you terribly!" Nyssa had her daughter's face cradled between her hands, examining her with a worried eye. "Darling, you look so thin. Have you been eating properly? Can I make you something for breakfast?"

A small laugh escaped the girl. "I'm fine, Mom, honestly."

"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" her mother pressed. Without waiting for an answer, she proceeded to fish an empty mug from the cupboard and fill it with tea.

As the steaming beverage was thrust into her hands, Darcy mused lightly, "I suppose I wouldn't mind a cup of tea." She let her mother guide her into a chair, smiling as her father leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead. "Hi, Daddy. I've missed you."

Thomas Reed swept a stray lock of hair off his daughter's brow. "Same here, sweetheart." Fussing with the slightly-fraying hem of Darcy's shirt, her mother said, "We thought you were going to stay with the Weasleys for the holiday. Why didn't you send an owl to let us know you were coming home?"

"It was… a spontaneous decision, I suppose," the Seeker answered carefully.

Her mother smiled. "Well, spontaneous or not, I'm so glad you're here." Her tone, so full of love and sincerity, caused a small lump to form in Darcy's throat. But then the older woman laughed and waved her hands absently. "Listen to me, chattering on, when we haven't even seen you since September! I don't know about your father, but I'm dying to hear what's been going on with you. You've hardly written at all this year, so I imagine you've got plenty to share." She closed one slender hand over that of her daughter, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Well…" Looking between her parents, Darcy sucked in a sharp breath. A last touch of anxiety had suddenly reappeared in the pit of her stomach, drying up all the saliva in her mouth till she barely thought she could speak.

Frowning slightly at her obvious discomfort, her father pushed aside his newspaper, turning his focus on his daughter. "What is it, Darcy?"

_Nothing! Say nothing!_ her mind was screaming at her, accompanied by the nearly-overpowering desire to run and hide. She drew a hand up to try and calm her wildly beating heart—and instead found the tiny golden Snitch pendant, resting between the fuse of her collar bones on its glittering chain. Tightly she closed her fist around Oliver's gift, slid her eyes shut, and slowly exhaled. "Mom. Dad," she spoke aloud.

Then she opened her eyes, and with as much calm as she could muster, she announced, "There are a few things I need to tell you."

* * *

Well, there it is. All my love, again, to my readers. You're the inspiration that keeps me from quitting entirely some days. Hugs to you all. 

-- Ginevieve (formerly Adele, and yes, I changed my penname)


End file.
